Fear of Demons
by FalconHorror
Summary: Here in Gotham, demons run amok & Alex develops a strange bond with Dr. Crane. It pulls her into the ominous world of Arkham. The hellish murderer on the loose professes doom for Crane's delicate hold on his sanity. CHAPTER 5: Meet 'The Killer'.
1. The Assignment

_**Fear of Demons**_

_The Assignment_

Well, this is a tentative start for my second story here. This will be much longer than the first, but I won't have time to update it until after my last exam on the 15th. This is set in an alternate universe from the movie, but it uses similar concepts. Crane is one of the main characters, but the plot does not focus solely on him.

Genre: Drama, angst, horror.

Synopsis: Things are going well for Alexandra until she gets involved with disturbing characters at Arkham Asylum, including the elusive Dr. Crane.

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters that are licensed to DC Comics. I only own original characters & plot.

* * *

"Hello, Dr. Ali. Can you please hold for Dr. Davidson?" a voice articulated from the small black cell phone. Alexandra quietly sighed.

_Well, at least the service here is good, _she thought. The voice sounded as if its' owner were right next to her. "Of course," she replied, somewhat reluctantly. She had been hoping that her day off from Mount Angels Hospital in Gotham could be spent in relative calm, shopping for her new house and for herself. Four and a half hours of uninterrupted bliss had past before her cell phone had given its' methodical, polite ring, reminding her of her many responsibilities. It had taken her almost two minutes to balance the countless shopping bags on her arms so that she could reach into her handbag to answer it. She had taken her time, hoping that whoever was calling would give up, but apparently her period of solitude for the day was over. There was silence at the other end for a few seconds before the senior manager of the Obstetrician and Gynecology Unit came on the line. As usual, his voice was enthusiastic, something of which Alexandra had become wary in her three months in Gotham, when she had started working at the hospital. Dr. Davidson always sounded excited, even when the news was less than good.

"Sorry to bother you on your day off, Alex, but I really need your assistance here. Something's come up. You're not too busy, are you?" The question was rhetorical, she knew, a mere courtesy.

"Umm...no, not really," she answered, hoping she didn't sound as unwilling as she felt. Her day of peace was over; she could hear it in his voice.

"Good," he said warmly, as if her reply was as eager as his tone. "You know about that nasty virus that's been going around, right? The one that was in the news because apparently it was genetically engineered? I understand you're familiar with it."

"Yeah, we did a bit of research on it at the lab. It's not fatal, but we linked it to possible infertility in women, probably due to, umm, secondary infection, but that's only in severe cases. I thought that we had the vaccines all ready to go." A military research facility was rumoured to have accidentally released the virus, but they denied it. Alex guessed that they were guilty by the way they generously offered to pay for the manufacture of the vaccines. She thought that they were lucky the virus was not deadly and no epidemic had broken out.

"We do, but you know we're still trying to eradicate it completely, especially in female cases. Your report said that women were to be given a higher priority due to the whole infertility business."

"Yes, I remember. I went to St. Patrick's and County General last week and they've contained their cases. I'm certain that batches of the vaccine have been sent out to all of the other hospitals and health centres, so, you know, everyone should have adequate access…….." she trailed off, unsure of what was the problem but nevertheless feeling that it was something that she was not going to like.

"Well, that's it. There's been a report of a case at Arkham Asylum; that's considered unusual because they have strict health measures and patients don't come and go as often as in the hospitals," he explained.

"But I thought someone from the hospital was assigned to go there," she intervened, realizing what he was about to ask. She dreaded the thought of spending another week writing elaborate medical reports.

"Yes, Dr. Lehmann, but he's been called out of town on urgent business. He's been gone since Thursday and won't be back until next week; the case was reported this morning. The asylum's director requested that someone be sent over today. He doesn't want it to spread to the other inmates, particularly the females. Can you make it there at least this evening? You'll need to organize yourself with the director about taking blood samples and so on."

"Sure," Alex replied. What a way to spend a Saturday afternoon: in Gotham's notorious asylum for the insane. Judging from the headlines she saw each morning over her coffee, Gotham had _a lot_ of insane people.

"Great. You don't have to carry anything; they've got a fully equipped lab with the necessary supplies," he informed her.

"How lovely," she replied dryly. Davidson laughed at the sound of her voice.

"Well, you'll have fun, I'm sure. Getting to socialize with Crane is always interesting; you'll have stories to tell. Oh damn, I've got to prep for surgery. Talk to you later," he said hurriedly, and hung up before she had a chance to question him further.

Alexandra tried to recollect the vague descriptions she had heard about the asylum. All that she had gotten from Loralai was that it was Gotham's Haunted House and that the director was an insufferable, arrogant bastard. _Well, that sounds like Crane, whoever he is,_ she thought wryly. Oh, she was definitely going to have fun. She took a yearning look at the bookstore she was about to enter before her phone had rung, then turned back and started walking to her car.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Dr. Jonathan Crane carefully locked the door to his laboratory on the first floor of Arkham Asylum. He briskly walked down the hallway, annoyed that the practical work he had been planning to complete today would have to be postponed. One of the female inmates had contracted the virus that those idiots in the military had released, and now he had to isolate the damned thing before it spread. The last thing he needed was for a medical emergency to be declared in the asylum; attention was not something for which he craved, especially with his current line of research. Lehmann had once again demonstrated his incompetence by leaving the city without even informing him; he had missed his appointment on Thursday to evaluate the patients and he had not even the decency to send a replacement. Crane had himself called Thursday afternoon and inquired about the absence of Lehmann. He was told another doctor would be assigned, but Friday had come and gone and only now, when he had reported an outbreak of the virus, had they deigned to send someone.

He reached the corner and turned, intent on going to his office. He would have time to obtain the medical files of all the female patients and then he would have a late lunch, as he was sure that whoever they had sent would undoubtedly arrive late. Apparently the doctors at Mount Angels were skilled in the art of procrastination, and Crane decided that he would dispense some advice on the topic of efficiency to the doctor who was due to arrive. It was already 2:30 p.m. and he had gotten confirmation from Dr. Davidson an hour ago that someone was coming. He stopped short as he noticed a girl at the far end of the hall, walking in the direction of his office that was just around the corner and looking at the doors as she went. He started to walk towards her, irritated. Obviously she was from the high school group that had taken a tour earlier that day. He disliked having people wonder around in the asylum unnecessarily, particularly air- headed teenagers. It was fortunate that he was able to make himself unavailable during most these tours; he loathed answering the mindless questions that were directed to him by Gotham's upcoming generation of adults. This one was probably from junior high, he guessed, noticing her slight build.

"Excuse me, ma'am," he began firmly as he came up behind her, "you're not allowed to wander around this area unsupervised. This is an asylum, not a museum." At the sound of his voice the girl turned around, surprised. He found himself looking down into a pair of eyes that were as light as his own, but emerald instead of frosty blue, and framed by a fringe of black lashes. She wasn't as juvenile as he'd initially thought; from the youthful look of her face he estimated her age to be somewhere in her late teens. She frowned slightly and looked confused.

"Oh," said a lucid, contralto voice marked with a slight British accent, "actually, I was looking for the director. The receptionist said his office was up here. I'm from Mount Angels Hospital," she added.

"I'm the director," Crane said, a bit puzzled; he'd requested a doctor, not a candy striper. "And you are?"

"I'm Dr. Alexandra Ali," she extended a slim hand. "I'm here to help contain the virus outbreak that you reported."

Crane stared at her, dumbfounded, wondering if the management at the hospital had decided to play a joke on him. She could be no older than seventeen. He stood silent, momentarily at a loss for words.

After a few seconds Alexandra dropped her hand, feeling awkward. She looked off to the side and then back at his unreceptive face. She offered him a tentative smile. "I was told by Dr. Davidson that you were expecting me," she said hesitantly. People were often surprised by her appearance, but not to the extent that they gawked at her as if she was an alien. She became aware of his scrutiny and remembered that she was not formally dressed. She was wearing a skirt that fell below her knees, calf- length boots, a knitted shirt over a camisole top and a beret over her hair. With the exception of the cream camisole top, everything was black. She was aware she probably looked like a goth-inspired teen, and felt a bit uncomfortable.

"Yes, I requested a gynaecologist, in light of the nature of the situation," he said finally, recovering somewhat from his preliminary shock. He did not return her smile.

"I _am_ a gynaecologist," she told him, keeping her tone neutral. Already she was tired and she wasn't in the mood to deal with temperamental doctors, especially one who supervised an asylum. _He obviously doesn't know anything about first impressions, _she thought, observing his impassive countenance.

He gave a short, dry laugh that sounded more like a scoff. "I didn't expect that he would send an intern; I'm afraid that this requires a doctor with some sort of experience. This is a serious matter, you understand," he said superiorly.

_Not afraid to mince words, are you?_ she thought sarcastically. She was glad that she had an advance warning about him. Loralai had been right; he was most definitely a jackass of the highest order. However, she wasn't in a fighting mood today so she would settle for pacifism.

"Well, I'm not an intern, but if you like, I can try to get a senior doctor to come instead. It's rather sudden, though, so you may have to wait until tomorrow for a full examination of each patient." She maintained the impartial quality of her words. "In the meantime," she continued as she reached into her black bag, "I'll see if I can call and arrange to have your patient moved to the hospital to prevent the infection from spreading."

Crane looked at her, uncertain of how he should respond. If he waited for another doctor it would not only imply that he didn't regard the matter with the urgency he proclaimed, it would mean prolonging the entire disaster, which he wanted to avoid as it would postpone his work even further. If he allowed her to do the evaluation, it would seem as if he had made a pointless objection. Either way, he surmised, he came across as being an idiot. He sighed to himself. He had no choice but to concede; time was of the utmost importance to him and he hated to waste it.

Alexandra had her cell phone in her hand and was about to press the button to speed dial the hospital when she heard Crane clear his throat. She raised her head to look at him.

"Actually, that won't be necessary," he said, somewhat reluctantly. "Any more delays will disrupt the other patients' therapy sessions. That's something I try hard to avoid. You can begin the evaluation by taking the blood samples. If you require any assistance for the analysis I'll have someone come over from County General."

_Well, why didn't you call them in the first place, dumbass? _she thought, annoyed."Alright, then," was all she said. She didn't bother to tell him that presently County General had a shortage of doctors. She was certain that she could complete the analysis by herself. If she needed help for whatever reason, she'd just ask Davidson.

"I was just about to get the patients' medical records from my office. It's this way." He gestured to the end of the hall and began walking. She followed him, wondering how she would manage to cope with his blatant conceit.

* * *

A/N: Short chapter, I know. This is just an introduction, really. The next chapter brings more mystery and suspense, including murder. Alex will try to control her anger at Crane, who for some reason does his best to irritate her.

Hope you enjoyed, thanks for reading and don't forget to review.

FalconHorror.


	2. The Beginning

_**Fear of Demons**_

_The Beginning_

Thanks to Raz & Neosavvy for reviewing my first chapter. I'm very grateful.

Here's the second chapter. It's longer than the first and here the plot starts to unfold. I forgot to mention that it's rated T due to some violence during the progression of the story. Also, Crane is his usual character, but of course you'll see some behaviour and dialogue that will seem novel & OC. That's because the movie gave us a limited view on Crane & Scarecrow. However, I'll do my best to stick to the original character, which is very well- written and multilayered in the comics. Just think of anything you see new as exploration of Crane's extra layers.

Disclaimer: As before.

* * *

As they walked towards his office Crane fell back slightly so that he could observe the young doctor again. He stole brief, sideway glances at her form, pondering. He could easily see over her head; she was about five feet three inches and looked to be no heavier than a hundred pounds, although Crane guessed that it was probably lower. He observed her slim build and concluded that she was naturally petite. Nonetheless, it was bewildering. When Dr. Davidson had called to inform him that someone had agreed to come, he'd assured him that she was a skilful gynaecologist whose feats were considered impressive in her area of expertise. Though he was certain that Davidson was exaggerating, Crane had expected a formally dressed woman in her late thirties, not a deceptively young maiden who looked, at best, like college freshman art major. He wondered how old she really was. It was a little unsettling that he had virtually no knowledge of her background. He was familiar with all the doctors who frequented Arkham, which to him, was invaluable. He detested his colleagues' brazen meddling in the asylum's affairs and he took care to ensure that anyone who had contact with the patients possessed no ulterior motives. He would have to be certain that this one was no different, despite appearances.

"I haven't seen you around the hospital before," he broke the silence, looking at her expectantly. She looked back at him.

"I'm new, I just moved here from Wales." She paused. "Do you do therapy sessions at Mount Angels?"

"Occasionally."

_Aren't you the talkative one, _Alexandra thought. That was fine with her; it was easier to contend with his cold silence than with what she had to endure previously. Memories of the comments that had been directed to her by her male counterparts threatened to surface in her mind but she pushed them away. He'd been surprised at first; she would excuse him for that. She understood his precarious situation; he was responsible for an asylum so there was no room for mistakes. She didn't mind the lack of friendly warmth, it was something she neither required nor expected. As long he didn't question her abilities she would politely ignore his sarcasm. She wasn't in the mood for a verbal duel, anyway.

"It's this one," he said, stopping in front of a large oak door. He noticed a blank rectangular outline on its' centre and reminded himself that he had to replace his nameplate; it had fallen out the week before. He held the door open for her and then followed.

His office was spacious and nondescript. The large desk at the centre flanked by a smaller one with a computer and a tall cabinet were the most noteworthy items. Crane motioned for her to sit in one of the chairs that stood in front of the desk. He walked to the file cabinet and opened one of the drawers. Soon he had a considerable pile of folders in his hands. He walked to his desk and put them down as he glanced at her. She was sitting quietly and gazing out of the glass window at the side of the room. As he was looking away something caught his attention; a small movement that contrasted to her stillness. His tarantula spider was slowly crawling up her boots. The orange specks on its' legs was what he had seen. He quickly looked down as she turned to face him, blissfully unaware of the visitor that was creeping up her leg. He sat and proceeded to sort out the files, waiting for the shrill scream to ensue when she felt the furry spines on her skin. The silence persisted.

"Oh, look at this," she finally said in an amazed voice. She didn't sound scared. Crane raised his head in surprise. She was holding the spider in one hand and petting it with another. She smiled fondly. "Is this yours? He was crawling up my leg."

Crane didn't answer.

"Aww, he's so cute." She noticed his expression and her smile faltered. "Oh……I used to have one just like him," she explained.

"I take him out of his cage sometimes," he managed at last. He stood up and walked to where she sat. He wordlessly took the spider from her outstretched hand.

"His chelipeds need to be clipped," she told him. The corners of his mouth turned up briefly in what Alexandra assumed was his version of a smile.

"Hmm," was all he offered. He carried the creature to a glass cage that rested on a metal table at the far end of the room. Alexandra had not noticed it before. He walked back to his desk and resumed his activity.

_He really _is_ a hog, _she mused, recalling Loralai's description of the director.

"How many female patients do you have?" Alexandra asked after a few minutes had past.

"Currently, twenty."

Alexandra glanced at her watch. There was no way that she would be able to obtain blood and examine twenty women today; it was already after three.

"I may not be able to finish everything today. I could come back tomorrow morning if that suits you."

"That's fine."

"Will I be going to their rooms or do you have an examination room?"

"No, the orderly will escort them one at a time to the central lab; there's an examination room to the side." He stood up. "Alright, I'll show you to the lab so you can get started."

She got up and followed him out of the room, feeling a little like she was back in medical school. Soon they stood in front of a pale blue- coloured door across which 'Central Laboratory' was printed in black letters. He unlocked it and went inside to switch on the lights. After a bright flood illuminated the interior Alexandra stepped inside. Dr. Davidson had been right; the lab was large and filled with the basic analytical equipment, all of which appeared to be modern. He briskly walked to the far end on the right side of the room and pulled back a white plastic curtain to reveal an examination table.

"Well," he began, "you should find everything you need here." He paused and surveyed her apparel. "We may have extra lab coats but --"

"No thanks," she interrupted him. "I brought my own." She placed her bags on the side table and walked towards the cupboards. She opened them and began checking for the equipment that she would need.

"I'll inform the orderly that he can bring the first one down in about fifteen minutes. That should give you time to prepare." He turned and walked toward the door.

"Dr. Crane?"

He abruptly stopped and turned around. It dawned on him that he hadn't formally introduced himself to her. It seemed somewhat ridiculous to do so now. Davidson must have told her his name.

"Yes?" was all he said.

"Do you have any smaller microfuge tubes? The 1.5 mls are a little large."

"Oh. Um, the lab technician doesn't come in on Saturdays. I'll check in my lab and see if I have any." He left the room hastily, wondering why he had become inarticulate in the last half hour. When he entered the lab again ten minutes later, he saw that she had donned a white lab coat and was arranging sterile syringes encased in plastic on a table. She had removed her hat and the fluorescent light overhead cast a ghostly bluish gleam on her hair.

"I'm afraid we don't have anymore in that size," he said, causing her to look up.

"That's okay," she said, offering him a faint smile. "These will do." She returned to her task of preparing to take the blood samples.

"How long have you been a doctor?" Crane asked suddenly. She looked up again, surprised to find him still standing there.

"Three years and, uh, seven months," she replied without hesitation. She knew that his question wasn't one of mere curiosity, as was usually the case when people asked. She suspected that he would attempt to interrogate her. However, she didn't mind a few questions; she would have wanted to know that her patients were in capable hands as well. She dismissed the notion that he was being snide; for some reason, she was not daunted by him and rather enjoyed his detached manner. After her last experience before she'd moved to Gotham, she welcomed isolation. It was one of the good things about this city; people minded their own business, and privacy was her main reason for coming here.

"I take it your research focuses on gynaecology and obstetrics." His voice was neutral but it was a veiled question.

"Mainly, but I'm also involved in viruses and their evolution." _If he starts to question my ability to take a blood sample I'll be forced to put him in his place, _Alexandra thought mildly. _Besides, he doesn't look so ahead in the years himself. _She had noticed that his age was not typical of someone in such an esteemed position.

He continued to observe her for a few minutes but Alexandra paid him no mind and went about her work as if he wasn't there. She silently dared him to criticize her on the simplest of things, but he only watched her as she quickly arranged instruments on a table.

"Well, I have to get back to my office. If you require anything else you can ask Mr. Smithson, the orderly, or the pharmacist on the ground floor."

He was moving towards the door when Alexandra said, "Uh, Dr. Crane, actually there is something…….." she trailed off and stood tapping a pen against her hand nervously.

He turned to face her and waited patiently for her to continue.

"Is there something that I shouldn't do or say in front of any of these women? I mean, I realize that they're all unique cases; I counsel my patients as well. But……this _is_ a bit on the extreme side of what I usually deal with, so, I'm not really sure……….."

"Not at all," he said, seemingly unmoved by her sensitivity to the situation. "You're free to answer anything relating to the issue at hand, as most of them have access to the news. If any of them should pose a bizarre question you'll simply ignore it. The orderly will be standing outside during each examination so you needn't worry about your safety. Anything else?"

She shook her head. "No, that's it. Thank you."

He nodded and then left the room, leaving Alexandra to her thoughts in the resounding silence.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

It was 9:40 p.m. by the time Alexandra decided to wrap up, having completed the examination and obtained the blood samples of eleven women. She was no longer in a good mood. She was exhausted and just wanted to go home, but first she had to make a trip to Mount Angels. She had opted not to store the samples she had already taken in the freezer at Arkham; she was fastidious about her work and wanted the samples to be safe in her lab. Also, for an unknown reason the asylum gave her a sensation of unrest. It possessed an air of disquieting serenity. Alexandraandra wasn't easily spooked and she certainly didn't feel afraid, so she simply told herself it was due to the absolute lack of noise. Even the ICU at the hospital gave some indication of life by the steady beeping of its' machines and the soft patter of the interns and they checked on the patients. Then there were the comforting sounds of the laboratory in which she did her research. But this place demonstrated nothing of the sort and in between examinations when the orderly left she could almost feel the deafening silence. As the daylight dulled into night she reflected that she had been more at ease when Dr. Crane was present, regardless of his impassive manner.

She sighed as she finished wiping the tables with disinfectant. After scanning the area to ensure everything was in its' place she walked to the sink and discarded her gloves.

"Finished?" A voice came out of the quiet as she was shrugging out of her laboratory coat, startling her. Dr. Crane had entered the room unheard and unseen and was standing there looking exactly as he had just a few hours before. There was no trace of fatigue on his face or on his entire appearance.

"Almost," Alexandraandra answered after her initial shock had subsided. She replaced her coat in its' bag and proceeded to wash her hands. "I've got nine more people to examine. At what time should I come by in the morning?"

"Eight o' clock should be fine." He saw the storage cooler sitting next to her bags on the table. "You're taking the samples with you? We have a storage facility here." He sounded mildly curious.

"Oh…yes. I…wanted to start the analysis. I'm taking them to the hospital tonight. No one had any of the immediate symptoms, by the way," she told him, hoping that he wouldn't find it strange that she was bothering to transfer the samples at that hour. "I had one dose of the medication with me so I gave it to the infected woman. I'll bring the full dosage tomorrow. She needs a total of two each day for seven days, followed by a post- exam to verify that everything's out of her system. The virus is rather tenacious, I'm afraid."

"What about the chances of it being spread to the other inmates, then?" His voice lacked the doctor's warmth that Alexandra used with her patients. He sounded a bit concerned, though preoccupied.

"The same as with the regular 'flu," she said, wiping her hands. "If she's kept in her room and doesn't have close contact with others then everything should be fine. But they've got to be vaccinated, so I'll bring that tomorrow as well."

She gathered her things and carefully picked up the cooler. Crane snapped the lights off and held the door open for her to pass.

"I'm sorry to have kept you so late. Regrettably, this was all last minute due to Dr. Lehmann's inefficiency. He gave me no indication he had cancelled," he said rather sedately.

"That's okay. I keep worse hours at the hospital." She decided to ignore his comment on Lehmann. She realized that he was walking with her and she began to wonder about his attitude. He certainly seemed conceited, but somehow he didn't come across as being misogynistic, a quality, she had found, that wasn't rare in their line of work. Lack of misogyny aside, she still found him somewhat aggravating.

"Can you tell if this case is serious?" he asked her as they descended the stairs.

"I can't say for certain until I find out if she's developed a secondary infection. That's what usually leads to the infertility. I should have the preliminary results by Monday morning. I'll fax them to you."

"When will the other reports be ready?"

"Whenever I'm finished," she said shortly. His condescending demands were beginning to vex her, but she vowed to maintain her outward composure. "It shouldn't take long. By the way, have _you_ been vaccinated?"

He looked at her with raised eyebrows. "Me? No, I haven't. Should I be?" The amusement in his voice was evident.

"Well, yes, you should," Alexandra responded, annoyed at his tone. He sounded as if he were mocking her. Did he think that men were immune or did he think that _he_ was? "I know most of the reported cases were female but men can be infected as well. It would be a good idea for you to have it. I mean, you're exposed to patients. It's part of the containment program; all the doctors have been vaccinated."

"First thing tomorrow, then," he said nonchalantly. "I'll have the examination room prepped in the morning so you can start as soon as you arrive. Goodnight," he added as they reached the massive front door.

"Goodnight," she answered. She walked down the wide front steps of the building and across the parking lot to her car.

Crane watched her as she strolled to her car and put the cooler in the backseat, his face thoughtful. The virus, he had inadvertently found out, had been created by military scientists. Ra's al Ghul's henchmen weren't as discreet as he thought; they had been assigned to eliminate the man responsible for the leak. Crane knew it was originally designed for Gotham's citizens, but it unexpectedly mutated, affecting only women. But she didn't need to know that. It was better if she didn't.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

"No, he didn't try to eat me, although he stared at me like he wanted to." Alexandra was talking to Loralai as she sat in a warm bath later that night. Loralai was a biochemist who worked at Mount Angels. She and Alexandra had become good friends since she had started working at the hospital. Loralai had called to inquire if she was still alive after she'd heard about her assignment at Arkham.

"_Well, you're a lucky one. People have gone missing up there."_

Alexandra chuckled. "I don't see why everyone's in such awe of him; he doesn't seem as terrible as people say. He's just a bit quiet, that's all. We managed to have a civilized conversation." She swept her hand lazily through the frothy bubbles. "Although, he does seem haughty, sort of like a plumped up chicken," she added, recalling the way he held his head and strutted.

Loralai laughed loudly at her description of Crane. She stopped suddenly and Alexandra heard a voice in the background.

"_No, it's just Alexandra, Richard. Go back to sleep. Yeah, in a little while. Sheesh." Loralai sighed._

Alexandra smiled. Loralai was forever busy pacifying her incorrigible husband. Richard always seemed to be suspicious of his wife's most innocent activities, including her varying lunch hours. Everyday Loralai received at least three calls from her husband just so he could find out when she was having her lunch. Their world- weary bickering never failed to amuse Alexandra. Yet, they had been married for fourteen years and had two children whereas Alexandra's marriage had barely lasted two years.

"You better go before he decides to pull a phone record tomorrow," she told her. Loralai agreed and said goodbye. After she had hung up she leaned her head back and her mind drifted back to Dr. Crane.

Like she always did when she encountered someone with a distinctive persona, she attempted to evaluate him to decide whether or not he was agreeable to her. He seemed the sort of person who existed only for specific intent. She wondered about his life outside the asylum. Was he married? Did he have a family? She hadn't noticed whether or not he wore a wedding ring; it was not a habit of hers. His disposition confused her; he didn't appear to possess the chauvinistic certainty that usually came with someone of his rank, especially someone so young. It was probably too early to make any definite conclusions; she had only known him for a few hours. Still, she mused, he had plenty of opportunities to critique her during the evening. Whilst she had gotten the feeling that he was assessing her – and would continue to do so in their subsequent encounters—she had not been intimidated by him in the least. The only thing that she found peculiar was the secretive, cold look in his eyes. They weren't exactly blank, they just appeared………calculating and………what? She couldn't think clearly; the warm water was lulling her into a doze.

_Brringggg!!!!!!!!!!_

The harsh sound of her phone cut through the stillness like a sharp knife, shattering her peace. She swiftly raised her head and looked towards the door, eyes wide and alert, now fully awake.

_Brringggg!!!!!!!!!!_

She continued to stare at the bathroom door without moving, as if hypnotized. The shrill sound of the phone was like grating on a liquid glass and it unnerved her. She blinked and finally pushed herself up. She grabbed a fluffy white towel and wrapped it around herself as she headed towards the living room.

"Hello?" she answered calmly.

"_Alexandra? Hi, it's me. How are you?" _

The horribly familiar voice filled her with instant dread and just a hint of panic. How had he found her? Had someone told him? No, that was doubtful. The neighbours wouldn't have done that – she had only told two of them anyway—and neither would have her colleagues back at the old hospital. How, then, had he found her? She took a deep breath.

"Aaron," she said flatly. "How did you get this number? What do you want?"

"_I don't want to bother you, Alexandra. I just wanted to see if you're okay."_ The soft, jeering quality of his voice betrayed his words.

She scoffed. "Aaron, that's not your responsibility anymore. It's not your place. We discussed all this before. Why do you keep bothering me?" She was still shocked that he had found her.

When they had divorced, Alexandra assumed they would have no more contact save for an occasional nod at the grocery store to keep things civilized. She had accepted that their marriage just wasn't meant to be. Then he had begun to call her every so often. He'd begun to ask her about her life and her personal affairs. She had told him in no uncertain terms that he was crossing the line and that she wanted to be left alone. He was just too possessive; he kept reminding about things in their marriage she would have rather forgotten. She wasn't one of those people who wanted to be good friends with an ex- spouse.

"_You're being very unreasonable, my dear,"_ he said stonily.

"How did you get my number?" She wondered if he knew where she was. He could have easily found out what city she was in by looking at the number. Suddenly, she became aware of how alone she was. She looked towards the glass windows. They were closed; she had closed them before she had left that morning.

"_Why does that matter?"_ He now seemed coaxing.

Alexandra opened her mouth to tell him if he ever called her again she would report him to the police but he cut her off, his voice low and threatening, his words promising. She froze, not wanting to listen but somehow compelled by his taunts.

She heard a sound behind her, faint but audible. It broke her reverie and she pulled the handset away from her ear and spun around. Nothing. No one was there, she was alone. She became aware of a dull, droning: the phone. He had hung up.

She gently replaced the receiver. The floor was wet where she was standing. She slowly walked back to the bathroom and sat on the edge of the tub. The suds had diminished to a filmy froth. She looked at it, his words echoing in her head. He would come back, she was sure of it. She didn't like to be bothered, especially now, when she was divorced and they had separate lives. Well, she would take care of it if he did; she hated to be manipulated. She was a calm person by nature, but she was not weak, so when he came, she decided, she would know what to do. Well, maybe not exactly. It was pointless to worry about when he was coming. There was no use in panicking. Still, it was always good to have a plan……….

She began to think.

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Marcus Luxenborough felt the harsh wind against his face as he walked down the path. The park was deserted at this hour; he had only the frequent gust of leaves for company. That was just as well, because he was in a foul mood. Linda had to attend some stupid museum opening earlier that night, and now she was almost certainly partying with her high society friends. That didn't bother him, though. Maybe she would decide to spend the night at his place when she was finished. What angered him was the lecture he had gotten from Davidson a couple of hours ago.

He was about to get off his shift when the manager had approached him. Apparently, he was not pleased with the way Marcus conducted business with his patients. Marcus didn't see how that was of any concern to him, but he had grudgingly agreed to be more tactful. He had done so only to placate Davidson, but in reality he couldn't give a damn about what he thought. He detested to be told how to do his job. He slowed his pace as the lake came into view. He decided to stay there a little longer. The dark water glimmered gently in the moonlight. The wind picked up slightly and a handful of leaves blew across the night and into the murky water.

An hour passed.

A few droplets of icy rain fell randomly in the lake, leaving ripples across its surface. They gradually increased to a chorus that agitated the water. The rain ran trickled down the stone walkways and dripped off the hedges. It cleansed its path and spread the crimson blood that had pooled on the ground into rose spirals that ran down to mix with pure water, away from Marcus Luxenborough's lifeless body.

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After an unknown time, Alexandra was finally ready for bed. She stroked her hair one last time with her brush and then switched off the bedside lamp. She pulled the quilt over herself and closed her eyes. She could sleep peacefully now; she felt calm. Sleep overtook her easily. As the darkness spread across her mind her thoughts swarmed around and pushed it aside. Suddenly, she found herself awake, tense and confused. She looked around her bedroom, anxious. No, she hadn't forgotten anything. She relaxed. There were no exams for which to study, no papers due, no surgeries tomorrow; all appliances had been unplugged. She tried to capture her last coherent thought. What had she been thinking about? Oh, yes. Dr. Crane. She could feel herself dozing off. He had strange eyes, and a strange demeanour. Something about him was cold….something about him bothered her. But what? As she was drifting off, she thought she heard a distant noise, like a scream, but then she was asleep.

* * *

A/N: Sorry, I had to cut this chapter short; I didn't realise it had gotten so long. I hope no one found it too boring. It was just to set a better foundation for the story.

This was done hurriedly so if I've got any errors please let me know. Thanks.

If you're wondering, no, this isn't a romance.

FalconHorror


	3. Those Few Days

_**Fear of Demons**_

_Those Few Days_

My most sincere thanks once again to **Raz 42492**,**Neo savvy** and **Silver-Eyed-****Elf**for taking the time to review and everyone who read my story. I really appreciate it.

This chapter is probably the most important as it deals with interaction between Crane & Alexandra. I don't believe that they could form a rapport in one convo, so I've written it in what I hope is a series of plausible situations. Please bear with me & read it through.

Hope you like it.

Warning: This contains references to child abuse & serious teenage issues, but it's very mild. This is still rated 'T'.

Disclaimer: Same as before.

* * *

_Sunday Morning- 8:03 a.m._

Alexandra strode across Arkham Asylum's parking lot, praying for her cold medication to work quickly. Her nose was considerably rosier than the rest of her skin, and she hoped she didn't look too comical. She had begun to sneeze that morning uncontrollably, something she attributed to her long soak in the tub the night before. As she passed through the front door and nodded to the security guards she wished that she didn't have to come back to this drab place.

She stopped short in the hallway as she noticed Dr. Crane standing with three policemen from Gotham's Police Department and a man dressed in a casual suit without a tie. They all wore sombre expressions and Alexandra felt a twinge of nervousness. Was it something to do with the virus? What was going on? As she began to walk towards them she recognized the man in the suit. He was slim, wore spectacles and sported a thick moustache. Alexandra knew he worked for the police; she had seen him numerous times outside of the building. She thought he was warm and friendly; he always nodded at her and smiled when they met at the supermarket. Alexandra heard Dr. Crane say, "_Of course_," as she reached them.

"Dr. Ali?" She nodded. "I'm Sergeant Gordon from Gotham PD." He extended his hand.

"Nice to meet you." She shook his hand, uneasy. "Is there a problem?" She glanced at Crane briefly then back at Sergeant Gordon.

"I'm afraid so," Crane answered for him. Alexandra looked at him, confused. "Dr. Luxenborough was murdered last night. He's a resident at OBGYN Unit. I believe you know him." He looked at her for an answer. She cast her eyes down to the floor then back up at him, trying to steady herself and quell the rising panic.

"Yes," she finally pronounced slowly. "He was a………colleague." Alexandra took a deep breath, not knowing what else to say.

"I'm sorry to bring this kind of news so early in the morning," Gordon said sympathetically. "We're just trying to ask around to find out his whereabouts, his habits, anything really that can help us."

"So you don't know……." Alexandra trailed off.

"No, I'm afraid not. We've already been to Mount Angels, talked to a few people, but we haven't seen everyone." He gestured at Crane, who had left the group unnoticed and was speaking to the receptionist at the main desk. "I was told by Dr. Davidson that you were conducting an examination here. Dr. Crane says you're not finished, but I'd like to ask you a few questions when you've got time."

Alexandra nodded. "Of course. Um, you could come by the hospital tomorrow, if that's all right. I can talk to you around lunchtime."

"That's fine. I really appreciate it." He sighed wearily. "I'm sorry for your loss. We'll see if we can take care of this as soon as possible. Tomorrow, then."

Alexandra nodded again and watched him and the officers walk out of the asylum's doors. She said nothing.

_Sunday Morning- 10:56 a.m._

"Doctor."

Alexandra heard the staid voice and recognized it as Crane's. She turned to find him walking towards her. She had just completed examination of the final patient and was closing the laboratory door. The asylum was deathly quiet and she was just about to leave.

"I should be able to finish the reports this week," she told him as he reached her. "You'll get them by Friday afternoon."

"That's fine. I realized that I didn't give you the certification letter needed to verify the authenticity of the exam. Would you like to come back to my office now so I can take care of that?"

"Sure." She followed him back to his office, marvelling at his thoroughness. She had forgotten about that; the letter confirmed that she had conducted the assessment with the proper permission. Both their signatures would be needed and she wouldn't have the time to come back again that week.

His office was the same as she had last seen it, only there was a small scattering of paper on his desk. He walked behind it and pulled the chair in front of his computer.

"Oh, I should probably get some information from you for the reports," she said, suddenly remembering. Everything had been arranged so hurriedly and news of the murder had further clouded her mind. "Um, the proper address of the asylum, that sort of thing..." She opened her bag to look for a piece of paper but he wordlessly slid a white sheet with a pen across the desk to her.

"Thanks," she murmured distractedly as she tried to recall the miscellaneous details she would need to complete her reports. She arbitrarily wrote headings. _Name of institution, nature of examination, reason, authorization approved by..._

Alexandra paused as she realized that she didn't know his first name. Everyone had referred to him as simply 'Dr. Crane' and he hadn't told her his full name. There was no nameplate on his office door. She scanned his desk for one but she saw nothing. Now she would have to ask him.

"Umm, what's your first name?" She hoped that she didn't sound ridiculous. He paused his typing and looked her. She wondered, not for the first time since meeting him, how he could manage to maintain such a serious expression. He was the picture of a professional with his neat, sterile appearance and Alexandra realized that he was clad in a business suit even though it was Sunday. How strange.

"It's Jonathan," he told her, and resumed his typing.

Alexandra wrote it down. _Jonathan Crane_. His first name gave him a more human quality in her eyes, more evidence of his existence as a person with his own life. Somewhere, long ago, his mother had lovingly looked at him and named him _Jonathan……._ Suddenly, she shook her head; she couldn't afford to get distracted while she was working.

"What date did you first notice symptoms of the virus?" she asked him, pushing her stray thoughts away. She quickly jotted down notes for the next few minutes as he answered her questions whilst he worked on the computer. She rose from her seat as she heard the whir of the printer and scanned her summary to make sure she hadn't forgotten anything. They both signed the letter and she tucked it away in her bag after he had stamped it.

"I'll have someone deliver the reports on Friday," she told him as they walked out of his office. "I gave the vaccines, the medication and the instructions to the pharmacist. After a week Dr. Lehmann will retest her to confirm everything's out of her system."

"You're not doing it?" Crane asked as he walked beside her.

"Well, he called me this morning and said that he'd be back soon and he'd take over. I have to be in the lab next week." They reached the top of the stairs and Crane continued down the hallway.

"Alright, then," he said as she descended the stairs.

"Oh," she turned to look at him. "There's a dose of it for you. Don't forget to take it."

"A dose of what?" Crane paused and looked at her blankly.

"The _vaccine_," she told him with obvious impatience, her eyebrows raised.

"Of course," he gave another of his pseudo- smiles, similar to the one he'd given her in the office yesterday. "Thank you." He started to walk away.

"Here's your pen!" She suddenly realized she had left his office with it.

"Keep it!"

Alexandra heard his footsteps fade and examined the pen. It was slim and had a dark blue, marble- like finish; it looked expensive. She wanted to return it, but wasn't about to go back to his office, so she descended the steps and exited the asylum. She reflected that Crane wasn't the sort of person with whom one made friends. He was all business, nothing more. Maybe he saved his warmth for his family, if he had any. His arrogant attitude did not daunt her in the least, but he was irritating. She had the distinct feeling that he'd been mocking her when she reminded him about the vaccine. Well, he was just another strange character she had met in Gotham. As she drove off all thoughts of Jonathan Crane faded from her mind.

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_Monday Morning- 7:30 a.m._

"As we've told you before, Dr. Crane, what we require is nothing short of a powerful tool that will force Gotham City to its' knees."

Henri Ducard sighed over the phone and Crane waited patiently for him to continue his oration. They were speaking on what was probably one of the most secure lines in Gotham City. Ducard has assured him that his associates possessed the technology to prevent their calls from being transmitted to any eavesdroppers. He had already met with him twice to discuss his grand plan for Gotham.

"If you can assure me you are prepared then we will commence our preparations." _And if you can't, we will carry on without you and you will suffer like the rest._

"Everything's in place," Crane told him laconically. "I've already generated the formula; it'll be ready when you're due to arrive."

"Excellent. If there are any problems you know how to contact me." Then he was gone. Crane replaced the receiver and leaned back in his chair, satisfied.

He had done more than just generate the formula. The toxin had been made and tested on a select few of Gotham's most violent criminals. He had pages of the documented effects on everything from tangible and manifested fears to hormones and blood pressure. But he hadn't told Ducard that. He didn't trust him one hundred percent.

But he didn't need to know that. It was better if he didn't.

_Monday Afternoon- 12:30 p.m. _

Alexandra slowly made her way through the busy street on Mount Province, not far from where the hospital was located. She had decided to get her lunch outside after her talk with Gordon. He had been patient and understanding, but the interview had left her feeling disconcerted and withdrawn; she had needed to get out from Mount Angels.

Marcus Luxenborough had been a colleague, not a friend, something she had made clear to Gordon. She didn't know if he had any enemies who hated him enough to murder him. When she first came to Mount Angels, Luxenborough didn't waste time in letting her know that he didn't consider her as his equal. She had initially chosen to ignore it, as it wasn't her style to maintain a childish battle with someone like him. If he didn't like her, that was fine; she didn't need him to. But then he had let his attitude get in the way of their work. She could not ignore it and was obligated to give him a mild warning in front of Davidson. After that his hostility towards her had been blatant. Now that he was dead she had to force herself to forget about their brief but stinging encounters. It would not be easy; he had made things very difficult for her at work and now he was gone.

She stopped in front of the vegetarian diner where she bought most of her outside meals. The sign on the closed door apologized to patrons for being closed for renovations. Where was she supposed to eat now? She'd spent most of her time in Gotham at the hospital, so she didn't know which restaurants had good vegetarian food. She wasn't in the mood to look and sucked her teeth loudly, oblivious to the disapproving glances of a few elderly passer-bys.

"They're closed?"

She turned and was surprised to find Crane standing there, clad in his usual business suit.

"Yeah." She moved so he could see the sign. He didn't seem as annoyed as she was. "Is there another veggie place around here somewhere?"

He shook his head. "There's one about three blocks down."

"That's too far for me. I'll get something at the hospital." She turned to go.

"You can come with me to where I'm having lunch. It's not a vegetarian diner but you should find something. It's not too far from here."

"Alright," she said resignedly. They began to make their way through the crowd. She was in too much of a bleak mood to notice that his voice sounded neutral, as if he was having a genuine conversation with her instead of discussing a business proposal.

"Are you a vegetarian?" He looked at her as they walked.

Alexandra nodded. "It's the only place I know outside of Mount Angels. Do you always eat there?"

"No, I'm not a vegetarian. I just like the food."

She was vaguely aware that he'd just voluntarily given her information about himself, but her current mood prevented her from brooding over it. They passed the next seconds in silence until they crossed the street. They walked by a pet store and Alex looked through the window.

"What happened to your spider?"

The question startled her. He remembered their conversation in his office?

"Oh…my, uh……someone accidentally stepped on him," she faltered, offering him a wry smile.

His eyes held an amused, rather calculating look as he regarded her. "You never thought of getting a new one?"

"No, not since I came to Gotham," she told him flatly.

He paused. "Do you like it here?"

"No, I don't," she answered in the identical tone, causing Crane to involuntarily smile.

Soon afterwards Crane led her into a small restaurant where the midday crowd was just beginning to clear. She quickly bought a vegetarian roll, thanked Crane and left hurriedly.

As she made her way through the door and past the glass window Crane watched her, a thoughtful expression on his face. He had found out some things about her and had determined that she was no real threat, unlike the assistant district attorney. Her patients were mostly females and his test subjects were mainly males. It was unlikely that she would interfere if she found something to be suspicious. Still, he would have to remain cautious. She was quiet, a trait that reminded him of himself, but the quiet ones always had a secret. Also, he'd observed certain things about her that drew his interest. Though it was probably nothing, he'd have to keep an eye out for her.

_Monday Evening- 6:00 p.m._

Crane strode out of the hospital room on the OBGYN Unit of Mount Angels Hospital, briefcase in hand, his lips pursed in disgust and annoyance. Apparently a group of teenage girls had thought it would be fun to indulge in a pre- college hazing game that involved cutting Druid symbols on their arms. After a few beers two of them had continued to cut themselves despite screams from their friends to stop. They were now in the hospital for attempted suicide. Crane had been asked to evaluate them due to the alarming rise in teenage suicides. After speaking to one of them he could have told Davidson that all they needed was a solid slap and maybe two weeks in a juvenile boot camp. He couldn't of course, so he would just recommend standard therapy and pity the psychiatrist who would be stuck with treating them. Born and raised in upper class society, they were undoubtedly looking for attention. He knew by examining the girl's cuts that if she'd really meant to kill herself that the ambulance wouldn't have made it in time. She did appear to be shaken and she was pale. However, that didn't prevent her from following his movements with her eyes and giving him seductive glances as she spoke, even as he returned them with his own cold stare. She appeared to be enjoying her predicament.

Crane turned the corner and headed for Davidson's office.

"Dr. Crane, there you are," Davidson called out from across the hall.

He was coming from the laboratory area. Crane walked up to meet him, looking through the glass window as he did. The doctor was there; she looked up and their eyes briefly met before she bowed her head and continued to write. As he spoke to the elderly doctor Crane once again thought how quiet she was.

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_Tuesday Morning- 6:00 a.m._

Crane wanted to complete the evaluation as soon as possible so he arrived at the hospital early that morning. As he entered the main reception area he saw her again, drinking water from a plastic cup. He frowned as he walked up to her. She was wearing a lilac shirt, the same one he'd seen under her lab coat the previous day. Had she been awake for the entire day and night?

"Good morning," she murmured as he came up to her.

He answered and looked at her eyes as she stared at the wall above the water cooler. They were slightly red and had a haunting appearance about them.

"You weren't joking when you said you kept worse hours at the hospital," he remarked.

She looked at him with her brows slightly furrowed.

"You're in the habit of keeping twenty- four hour shifts? I hope the extra work isn't a burden."

She shook her head. "Oh, no. That doesn't take much time. I just couldn't sleep so I took an extra shift and," she gestured at nothing in particular, "did some work in my research lab." She sighed and slowly drank from her cup.

"You suffer from insomnia?" he asked quietly, surprising even himself with the question.

A few seconds past before she nodded feebly, her eyes suddenly wary.

"Sometimes," was all she said.

Crane hesitated before speaking again, even though he wasn't sure what he was about to say. "If you'd like…I might be able to help you with that. I once had it when I was in college." He raised his brows in an attempt to feign concern.

Alexandra looked at him and chewed reflectively on her index nail, her eyes amused but still guarded.

"Hmm…that's an odd way of getting patients to analyze. I suppose you want to test some kind of new technique on me," she joked. She was truly shocked at his words and demeanour and knew no other way to respond. His ultra serious voice was once again absent and he sounded as he had yesterday when they were walking.

He gave a little scoff as he looked at the floor and then back at her. "Not at all. I understand it must be difficult adjusting to a new city with your kind of job. I don't have to use a physical technique; we could just talk. I promise I won't keep a secret file on you."

Alexandra stared at the wall again, unsure of what to say. Her thoughts muddled. She knew nothing about him. Was he a drug addict, a paedophile, a wife- beater or even worse? She recalled having heard Luxenborough once comment that Crane might be gay. She disapproved of such behaviour, but how was she to know if that was true? Even if it was, it shouldn't stop her from talking to him. She'd known many homosexuals and she had always been civil to them whilst still voicing her views. But she had to maintain some kind of morals in her life. It kept her grounded. But that was his private life and he'd offered her his public services as a professional, hadn't he? Did he do that with any of his other colleagues? Perhaps it was wrong to judge him on such meagre knowledge but she had to be cautious of strangers; she was single woman with no relatives in a strange city. Maybe it was because she was new that he wanted to be helpful, but his reputation suggested otherwise. She remembered Riley's words about being cautious, yet not isolating herself from others.

"If you change your mind you can call me at my office," he interrupted her silent deliberations, noticing her expression. She nodded at him and he started to walk away.

"Dr. Crane?"

He turned. "Yes?"

Alex hesitated, not sure of what she intended to say. "It's just…I know that……you're obliged to record all your sessions. I just don't feel comfortable being under…_therapy_, even if it's just for insomnia, so…" She bit her lip, regretful that she had attempted to explain herself; Crane was regarding her with curiosity from behind his square- framed glasses.

"Well, I'll make you a deal then. If you _do_ decide to come, we'll consider it…an informal session," he said, taking a step towards her. "If I try to strap you to the electroshock table you can report me for malpractice. If I find that you're a zombie I'll change my mind about that secret file. Alright?"

"Okay," she replied, unaware that she was smiling.

He nodded at her and they went their separate ways. Neither of them noticed a nondescript man in his forties sitting not too far from where they stood. He wore a brown cap and appeared to be reading a newspaper.

It looked to be an ordinary day for Dan Wilson, but it wasn't. He smiled to himself; his boss would be very interested in the conversation he had just overheard.

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_Friday Morning- 8:35 a.m. _

Crane coldly regarded the wide- eyed man from behind the rough material that cloaked his face. His own eyes burned like eternal sapphires in the seemingly endless pits of his mask.

Or more precisely, Scarecrow's mask.

Ted Daniels, convicted murderer and rapist, lay strapped to the electroshock table. He was twitching uncontrollably and clawing futilely at the metal table. The face that hovered before him was that of his father, who had burned him with cigarettes when he was a child. Only now his face was covered in large, grotesque cigarette holes that moved as he spoke.

"_Scaaaare—croooow,"_the distorted voice whispered.

"S-s-stop," he whimpered, trembling.

"_Stop?"_the voice inquired with great interest. _"Why should I stop? Did you stop when your victims begged for their lives? Did you stop when Jessie asked you?" _

The bloody, slashed face of Jessie, his former therapist, now stared at him blankly. Thoughts of how he had tortured her swam through his mind.

"_DID YOU?! ANSWER ME!" _

"N-n-no," he stammered.

The face melted and changed once more. He closed his eyes and prayed for it to be over.

_Friday Morning- 10:30 a.m. _

Crane sat behind his desk and surveyed the two large manila envelopes that were addressed to him. He opened one of them and removed its' contents. Stuck on top of a pile of slim, white folders was a note from Dr. Ali informing him to call her if he had any questions.

He plucked it off from the file and leaned back in his chair. He examined her round, neat handwriting and thought back to their last conversation at the hospital. He had shocked himself by asking her what he had. He had spent the rest of the week with a vague feeling of anxiety and bewilderment, half hoping that she would call. But she hadn't and Crane suspected that she would need a fair amount of persuasion to do so. He tried to tell himself that he was trying to find out more about her, but he already had. The brief research he'd done told him that she had spent some time in an orphanage when she was younger. Her parents had died when she was a child. She was divorced. She was a quiet woman whose main interest was her work. That had been sufficient. Crane didn't need to know anything else.

Why, then, had he offered to help her?

His mind once again brought forth random thoughts of her, as it had been doing for the past few days. Their first meeting had been rather awkward. He had been unconscionably rude to her, but she hadn't seemed offended. Instead, he remembered that she'd smiled at him more than once. It hadn't been bold or confident, but tentative, as if she wasn't sure how it would be received.

He frowned, wondering why she persisted in his thoughts. After speaking to her Tuesday he dreaded that he had an ulterior motive for wanting to help her. But that wasn't logical; he used Scarecrow to his own advantage. He had long ago mastered the art of keeping him at bay, and that was done by controlling his anger. Besides, he couldn't test it on her; she wasn't a patient. Ra's al Ghul would find out about his premature activities if he did that. Honestly, it hadn't been in his mind when he asked her.

Well then, _what_ had been?

It was because she was new. That was the best explanation his restless mind could offer, but he knew that wasn't the true reason. There was something else, something that sinisterly lurked in the cold recesses of his thoughts about her.

He wanted her to know about fear. _He_, not Scarecrow, wanted her to know that it existed. He had picked up on something in her behaviour that indicated a kind of vulnerability of which he could make use.

Something, he suspected, she didn't know about herself.

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_Saturday Afternoon - 12:47 p.m. _

Crane slowly walked up the suburban street in The Narrows. It was relatively quiet. The distant sounds of children playing safely in their backyards mixed with the occasional chirping of birds in the background. Although the sun was covered behind layers of clouds the day was clear and he could see the veins of the leaves on the sidewalk bushes. He had finished his paperwork earlier that morning and decided to take a walk to clear his head. The past few months had been hectic for him and he rarely had any relaxation time. He'd left his car at the asylum and casually strolled towards the residential area of The Narrows, not heading for any specific place but knowing where he would inevitably end up.

He turned the corner and halted as he spotted a familiar form on the same side. She was standing opposite a road which led to the business places, looking back and forth.

"Lost?"

Alexandra turned and saw Crane standing beside her in his customary garb. His suit jacket was unbuttoned and it seemed as if he had just appeared out of nowhere.

"Mmm…no, not really. I was just looking for the quickest way to the train. I can't remember if it's this road or one further down. Which is it?" She looked up at him, confused.

"Actually, it's further down this street," he gestured with his head. "I'm going this way, I'll show you." They both started to walk side by side at a moderate pace. Crane wondered what she was doing walking about The Narrows by herself. Had no one warned her about its' reputation? She was in a reasonably safe place, but what if she'd decided to venture into the drug area?

"You know," he began, looking down at her, "it's not a good idea to get lost in this section of Gotham."

She nodded. "No, I know it isn't," she readily agreed. "A friend of mine warned me about it. She said it was best to stick to this area." She indicated with a sweep of her hand the broken lines of cosy- looking houses that surrounded them.

"What are you doing here?" he asked. He half expected her to tell him that it was none of his business in her demure voice.

"I was visiting a patient of mine." She paused to brush aside the strands of hair that blew into her face from the chilly wind. "My car's being painted so I took the train. I was told it's usually safe."

"It is, apart from late at night."

They continued in silence for the next few minutes. Alex had almost asked him what he was doing there, but stopped herself in time. She reminded herself that he was essentially still a stranger and it wasn't her place to question him outside of their professional conversations. She had decided not to accept his offer, although she was tempted. Their exchange in the hospital lobby had almost veered into flirting, she realized. She couldn't allow that to happen; she had no idea if he was married or had a significant other. She glanced at his left hand and saw no wedding band but that didn't necessarily mean anything. It just wasn't appropriate. Her thoughts were interrupted when she realized that Crane was not beside her. She looked back and saw him standing in front of what seemed to be a derelict house.

Crane stood and gazed at his childhood home, now deserted and in ghostly ruins. There were a few houses on either side of the street that were in partial disuse due to renovation and possessed a similar appearance. But this house was completely devoid of human life. Its' flaked paint had long ago lost its' original colour. The broken windows were like empty eyes which led into the hollow, sorrowful depths of a desolate interior. The dust on its' floors was moved by the only thing to inhabit it: the cold, lifeless wind.

Crane gazed at it, rapt, until he felt something brush against him. He cleared his throat.

"I…used to live here when I was a boy," he said numbly. The words felt strange on his tongue, as if they were spoken in a foreign language. He turned his head slowly to look at her but she was also looking towards the house. All he could see was the wave of hair that covered her face. He stared at her, wondering if she thought he was peculiar.

"You grew up in The Narrows?" Her soft voice held curiosity and something else he couldn't identify. She now turned and looked up at him.

Crane once again observed the youthfulness of her features. Her eyes were touched with warmth and what seemed to be sympathy at his revelation. He nodded at her.

"I lived here with my mother until I went to college," he answered evenly, and gave her a small smile. She immediately returned it and they locked eyes for a split second before she squinted from the glare and turned her face away. Crane watched her, the upturned corners of his mouth slowly fading as his eyes clouded with his own train of thoughts.

_Are you afraid of me? Are you, now? _

A ghastly chorus of distorted voices erupted in Crane's head, quite unexpectedly. He froze, his hands deathly cold. They buzzed and before they could speak again he brutally silenced them, his teeth clenching with the effort. He would pay for it later with a sickening headache.

"What was it like?" He heard her voice as if it came from the end of a tunnel. "Was it safer then? Were you safe here?"

As soon as the words were out of her mouth Alexandra worried that she'd gone too far, that their conversation would come to an end. However, his face remained thoughtful. His eyes were vague, but filled with some undetectable emotion.

Crane's mouth opened but no words came. He closed it and tried again after taking a deep breath.

"It was…safer, in a way. It was easier to catch the addicts then, but you had an equal chance of being drawn into it yourself. Now…," he sighed wearily. "Now you have a better chance of avoiding it but it's more difficult to apprehend the criminals. You don't know who most of them are," he ended with a touch of bitterness.

She was now gazing at him and she opened her mouth but was cut off by a deafening roar of thunder. They both turned to the direction of the sound. The sky was now an ominous grey and the clearness of the day was starting to wither.

"Come on. Let's get you to the train before the rain starts."

"It's okay, you can just direct me from here," she told him. "I don't want you to get wet because of me."

He shook his head. "No, I'll show you. I can always call a taxi. Besides, it's getting dark and you might get lost."

She silently complied and they finally resumed their walk, picking up a quicker pace. When they reached the station Crane scanned the train schedule.

"Where do you live?" Taken in context the question seemed innocent enough, but he eagerly awaited her answer.

"Crawford Gardens; it's not far from Mount Angels."

He pointed her to a train. "That will drop you off at Angels Square; you can take a taxi from there to Crawford Gardens."

"Thanks." She gave him her small smile and hurried into the crowded train.

His sharp eyes followed her into the train until she became lost in the horde of travellers. The voice of the announcer blared over the loudspeaker and then he watched it move out of the terminal.

_Stupid…so stupid… _

The voices echoed scorn…and Crane agreed. _Crawford Gardens…_he'd remember that.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

_Saturday Night- 10:32 p.m. _

Alexandra sat on the edge of her bed, legs crossed at the ankles, arms folded neatly across her torso. She was staring intently at the carpet but she wasn't really seeing it.

Aaron had called again. He had been calling each night since last Saturday. She didn't always speak to him, but there would always be an unknown missed call when she got home. Tonight she had listened to him helplessly, berating herself for doing so but wanting to triumph over his subtle threats. She had tried to tell him that she would report him to the police, but it hadn't discouraged him in the least. Once again she wondered if he was in Gotham.

Then there were the noises she heard tonight. She was locking her gate when she heard the sound of movement behind her. It had been too calculated to be the wind, especially when everything else was still. She hadn't seen anything so she went inside. The house to the left of hers' was unoccupied and separated by a fancy metal fence of medium height. She hadn't bought it because it was too large for her. Now she realized that it would be a good place to hide.

The worst were the nightmares and flashbacks. She knew it been induced by Aaron and his unrelenting insistence at obsessing over the demise of their marriage. Now it was haunting her, and the bout of insomnia she'd experienced on Monday was just the beginning. Things she had forgotten and didn't care to remember for the rest of her life were now gradually coming back.

The death of her parents, her time at the orphanage, the abject days of high school and her discovery of Aaron's nasty little…_habit_; they were all sluggishly surfacing in her mind like rotted corpses in an unsteady ocean. The only way to rid herself of them was to deal with Aaron, make him go away for good. She desperately wanted her life in Gotham to be filled with peace and contentment. She wanted to erase the harsh, wretched memories of her early life so that she could continue her current one with a relaxed mind.

She had been relaxed today, when she had been with him. Despite his cool exterior she found him comforting and was glad to know he had a bit of humility. She found that she liked to listen to him. She was thrilled he told her a little about himself and mused over it on her trip home. There was something about him that she couldn't quite express, but it didn't bother her. During that brief moment of their walk she had even allowed herself to think of him as a friend, not caring if the feeling was reciprocated. He could be a strange friend, a secret one. But not with the possibility of Aaron being around. She knew that if he was he would undoubtedly follow her. She didn't want him involved in any aspect of her life. What would happen if he approached Crane?

Her eyes fluttered to the cream curtains of the bedroom windows.

Maybe he was out there. She hoped that he wasn't. Vague recollections of certain episodes with him suddenly came to her mind and she winced. His obsession………

Alexandra placed her hands on her head and started to stare at the carpet again. There would be little sleep for her tonight, she knew. Her past demons had been stirred…and she was unwilling to confront them.

* * *

A/N: I hope you enjoyed that. Let me clear up a few things:

I don't view teen suicide or ridiculous hazing games lightly. My case was hypothetical where the girls involved were _not _actually suicidal.

I mentioned the gay factor not only b/c some B. Begins critics insisted that Crane was meant to be gay (something which disgusted me- why does every spooky male character have to be gay? You can find a couple of the reviews on Rotten Tomatoes) but due to Alex's character. A woman like her will wonder those things about a man etc…

The murder factor becomes more prominent in the next chapter. It will baffle the police so everyone becomes alert. The asylum, Crane & Alex will become entangled in it.

After that I'll treat you to 'The Killer'; I'll leave you to guess what that means….

Thanks for reading & please leave a word or two on your thoughts about this chapter—was it effective? Was I missing something, etc?

FalconHorror.


	4. Demons Will Stir

_**Fear of Demons**_

_Demons Will Stir _

Okay, so here's chapter 4. There are more murders & the plot unfolds. Once again I must remind readers that I took some time to develop the relationship between them so that it would appear realistic; it's also necessary for the story.

Thanks so much to **Silver-Eyed Elf, neo savvy, Raz 42492, Navar, & **for their reviews & alerts. I'm so grateful you've taken the time to read this.

I hope everyone enjoys this.

* * *

_Arkham Asylum_

Crane was bent studiously over the papers, frowning; he had been carefully analyzing the latest results from his tests for over an hour. He realized he still had a problem with controlling adrenaline levels. Obviously, they would vary according to the subject's unique fears, but he wanted to perfect the toxin such that it induced specific amounts of hormones, regardless of the extent of the reaction to it.

He leaned back in his chair and removed his glasses. He placed it on the lab's spotless counter and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. He sighed; he was tired and he still had a full day ahead.

He had awoken earlier than usual, unable to sleep. It had been a restless night for him. When asleep, he had been plagued by nightmares. When awake, Scarecrow's voice had taunted him mercilessly, chuckling and laughing at his thoughts. Try as he would, he had unable to hide them from him; they had intermingled with Scarecrow's knowing presence like smoke fading into the early morning fog. He had sat up in bed, the sheets twisted around his waist, panting heavily, tiny beads of sweat glistening on his bare torso as he clutched at his damp hair and clenched his teeth in an effort to silence Scarecrow's relentless screams.

Normally, he would be contented with Crane's solitary, wrathful musings, which were nothing more than disorganized spurts of feelings related to his past and promising his future. Normally, Crane welcomed his company; it was his haven from the tedious days of work. It was his daily reminder of why he laboured so arduously day after day.

Scarecrow was never far; he rested in the disquieted depths of his mind.

However, last night Crane's mind had inadvertently wandered to the present, and somehow he had not taken Scarecrow with him. He had lain in the darkness, watching the dull glow of moonlight on the wall of his bedroom as he thought about their meeting on Saturday. Something about it was bothering him in a way that was disturbing.

When he left her, he had gone back to the asylum and worked. He had worked Sunday as well, wanting to finish the blood analysis. Even as he had worked feverishly, his mind had never been far from the young, strangely quiet doctor. Her simplicity and tranquillity were straightforward enough, but it was more than that, he knew. She appeared to be so…vulnerable, so unsure. He had spoken to her outside of professional need because he was curious about her. _Why…_well, that was one of the things he couldn't tell. After he had read about her past he wondered about her experiences…he wondered if they were anything like his. The more he observed her guarded, withdrawn countenance, the more he had the urge to speak to her. She didn't seem repulsed by him; it was one of the first things he had noticed about her. She evidently knew about him, and he was certain that her colleagues at Mount Angels had wasted no time in giving their elaborate opinions of him.

Yet she treated him as……what, a friend?

_Oh, so you want a friend now, do you?_ Scarecrow had been amused at the thought, despite it being a mere inkling that wafted through his mind. But he was right; s_omething_ was wrong here.

And that was where it had started, the rants and screams of senseless agony. He had grappled with them until he was sore and exhausted, refusing to concede to him. It was imperative that he should understand Scarecrow's objections. _Crane_ didn't want to test the toxin on her; he saw no reason. Maybe that was it. Did Scarecrow think he was being denied what was rightfully his?

No, that was unlikely. She was…agreeable to him. Crane wished her no harm…but was that _really _true? And what of Scarecrow? Perhaps it was this new addition to Crane's thoughts that had aggravated him so. She had encroached upon what Scarecrow considered his territory. Or was it something else?

He was too weary to think; he decided to waste no more time analyzing things for which he had no answer and that would not serve him any practical use. He had a meeting to attend. Gotham's Hospital Association had its' trimonthly gathering to discuss the city's local affairs and how they impacted on the health of its' citizens. Teenage issues would certainly be a hot topic, considering how many times he had been called to Mount Angels in the past few months. Crane had spoken at the last meeting and he was glad he didn't have to do so this time. He was in no mood to deliver an eloquent speech that he knew would be wasted on the insipid minds of the senior doctors.

After securing his documents and locking the laboratory, he headed out. As he drove, he couldn't help but wonder if she was going to be there.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

She was there, sitting at the end of the second row. Crane suspected that Davidson had made it mandatory for her as she was new to Gotham. As he walked towards her he noticed small groups of doctors talking animatedly although the meeting was about to start. She was alone; she sat quietly with her hands folded on a writing pad.

She looked up at him as he approached, and Crane immediately saw tightly concealed agitation beneath her serious face. There was something else as well…and it was fear. Another person might not have detected it, but Crane could see it faintly lurking in her eyes—just for a moment—and then it was gone. She looked away from him and began to fiddle with her pen. He sat down in the seat next to her.

"I thought it would've started by now," he casually began as he glanced at his watch. "What's the delay?" He gazed at her, wanting to ask more but restricting himself.

"I, umm…I'm not sure," she responded hesitantly.

Crane could hear faint panic and bewilderment in her voice. He waited.

"There's…there's been another murder. It happened at Mount Angels. They found the body on the rooftop." Now she looked at him, as if he would offer her some sane explanation.

Crane raised his brows. "I haven't heard anything on the news," he said carefully. His mind was spinning with questions. Was it Ra's? Falcone? Both were brazen enough to eradicate their enemies without mercy, but not in such a careless way. Even Falcone, as reckless as he was, had to exercise a certain degree of caution; without it, his power would have been short-lived.

"They're trying to keep it quiet until they figure out how anyone could've gone in and out without anyone noticing," she told him. She sighed. "His face…he was badly slashed…it doesn't look like the typical sort of murders. At least that's what Sergeant Gordon says." She stared forward, suddenly sounding far away and distracted.

"Who was it?" Crane examined her closely but could not precisely decipher the emotions on her face. She was trying to hide them, he realized.

"Dr. Jenkins. He was, umm…Dr. Luxenborough's close friend." She paused, furrowing her brows as if in deep thought. "It seems strange, you know…" She trailed off and glanced at him.

Crane met her eyes and saw that they were distant and troubled.

"They think someone may be targeting doctors at the hospital?" Crane expressed her silent thought. She shrugged slightly and sighed again.

"Probably…it's the most likely explanation at this point. They've set up extra security in and around the premises. I don't think they'll find anything, though."

"Well, you should be safe, then," he said impulsively, watching her. "You're worried about all of this, aren't you?" His words sounded curious and concerned, which, he was pleased to note, had its appropriate effect.

She turned to look at him, and he saw that he hadn't been far from the truth. She was afraid of something.

"Well, Dr. Luxenborough was killed in a park that's very close to where I live," she offered tentatively. She dropped her gaze and closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them, her fatigue was palpable. "I just hope it isn't a serial killer, that's all. I'm not particularly familiar with the crime patterns of Gotham just yet." She attempted to make light of her initial words, embarrassed that he had read her so easily.

Crane opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by the crackle of the microphone in front of the conference room. He had not noticed that people had taken their seats. He turned in his seat and tried to concentrate on the speakers for the two hours that followed. He occasionally cast a sideways glance at her but she remained absorbed in the orations, her hand methodically taking notes. When it had finally ended, Crane tried his best to escape from the inevitable barrage of greetings from his colleagues, but was almost immediately stopped by Dr. Davidson. He plastered a false politeness on his face as he spoke to him and excused himself as soon as he could.

Crane scanned the room for her figure among the throng as he moved towards the door, but she was gone. He skimmed the parking lot of Gotham's City Hall through the glass- lined wall; her car was still there. He glanced at his watch; the digital display read _12:10 p.m_. Ideally, he should get a quick lunch and then head back to Arkham. After all, his work for the day was far from finished. However, he lingered for a few minutes, walking aimlessly around the sunshine-brightened room for no particular reason. Just as he was about to head for his car, he spotted her coming out of the corridor that led to the restrooms. She seemed preoccupied and did not see him. Crane walked up to her.

As he came into her view recognition replaced the dazed look in her eyes and Crane unexpectedly felt awkward, wondering what he had intended to say to her. She saved him the trouble by speaking first.

"Hey…I thought you would've been gone by now."

Crane observed that she sounded slightly strained, as if she was trying to disguise her exhaustion.

"I was just about to leave, actually." He gestured with his head. "I'm stopping downtown to get lunch. Are you coming?"

He was astonished at his own words even as he spoke them, but the ease and casualness with which they were uttered seemed, somehow, to be so natural that he took no time to reflect on it. Nor did he think it odd when she responded barely seconds later in the very much the same manner.

"No, thanks. I don't feel like waiting around in line and then waiting forever for a seat; this took longer than I expected." She attempted a smile but ended up sighing instead. "Oh, I forgot to ask you about the patients. Is everyone alright?"

He nodded. "They're fine. Dr. Lehmann's scheduled to examine the infected patient later today. She's been responding well to the treatment." They resumed walking and exited through the revolving doors. They stepped out and felt the midday sun warm their cool faces.

Crane looked at her; she was visibly weary. He thought she had a peculiar look about her, and realized that this was not the first time he had seen that expression; it had briefly shadowed her face that past Saturday. Only now, it lingered, and he could see that she was desperately trying to hide it. Now was the perfect time , he decided.

"Are you sleeping well?" The quietness of his voice made his words seem sincere. She glanced at him in apparent surprise.

"Well…" she hesitated, "mostly. Sometimes I just can't, though. I'm sure it'll pass soon. It must be the move, you know. I haven't really had the proper time to relax or…just do something for myself." She shrugged and cast her eyes down as they walked across the lot.

"Well, if you're up to it I could gi—," he abruptly flinched as his voice was cut off by a confusion of chattering in his head. It swayed and then became recognizable. He had expertly learned to ignore it, but now he found himself struggling to refrain from speaking to something that no one else would hear. He swallowed painfully and stared forward as he concentrated on banishing the noisy voices. They were forming words, but he had no desire to listen to what they had to say, at least not now.

"Hmm?"

He heard the distant sound of her voice and realized that she was looking at him. He cleared his throat.

"Oh…I…was just thinking that, umm, maybe you would like to read a book that might help you," he stammered. "I've had it since college." He paused to gather his bearings before he continued. "It's a compilation that's supposed to soothe you. You're probably familiar with most of the techniques already, but it's got relaxing stories, as well. The idea is to, uhh…deviate whatever thoughts prevent you from relaxing. It helped me a little, so…you might want to try it," he finished weakly, wondering if he sounded as stupid as he felt. He had been distracted by Scarecrow and once again, that sense of urgency was pressing on his mind.

"Sure, I'll try anything to get a good night's sleep." She gave him a curious glance as she spoke but then looked away.

"Would you like to follow me to Arkham to get it now?" he asked suddenly. "You could get lunch there so you won't have to wait."

He knew it was a rather bold request but was eager for her response. Somehow, he did not think that she would find it offensive. They had developed a strange sort of rapport somewhere in the past few days.

"It's in your office?"

He nodded. She looked at her watch and bit her lip.

"Alright," she finally agreed. "I'll go back to the hospital from there."

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_Gotham Police Department- that same day_

Michael Granger, resident pathologist of Mount Angels Hospital, sat back and surveyed the various law enforcement personnel that surrounded him. Commissioner Loeb was sporting a worried, impatient look, a change from his usual disposition of just plain impatience. Sergeant Gordon was tense as he studied the documents in front of him. Silence dominated the conference room and Granger was waiting for one of Gotham's finest to comment on the report he had just given them.

As expected, they could offer no immediate suspects. He stroked his beard, which was now beginning to display grey flecks among the brown, and speculated that they probably had no clue on where to begin. He did not blame them; this was an admittedly bizarre situation.

Commissioner Loeb cleared his throat and spoke first.

"So…you're sure the forensics have gone over everything completely? More than once?"

"From head to toe," Granger replied. "No pun intended."

Loeb glowered at him, but it was Gordon who spoke next.

"Look, we've got nothing from our guys and now you're saying the forensics were right…that this has no leads whatsoever. And you didn't find _anything_ that might help us?"

"I can only reiterate what I told you about the method of the murderer. Quick, forceful blows, sharp instrument, probably a knife…a sharp one, of course. Also, someone who's very violent, judging from the extent of tissue damage I've seen." He sighed and scratched his head. "I really can't tell you anything more. There were absolutely no traces of any kind of fibre or anything else that might prove to be helpful. It's uncommon, I know, but it happens. It's out of my hands now; all I can suggest is that you look for a matching MO."

"We've done that," the commissioner snapped. "Obviously we haven't found anything or we wouldn't be having this problem."

"Listen, Dr. Granger," Gordon interrupted, his voice tired, "if you hear anything around the hospital…or from your colleagues, please let us know. At this point we're not taking any chances that someone might be targeting the doctors."

Gordon sounded doubtful even to himself. They had gone over a hundred different angles and there was no logical reason why someone would want to murder the doctors of Mount Angels Hospital. As he watched the pathologist walk out, he prayed that the murders were a coincidence; if someone really were after the doctors, they would have a nightmare on their hands, judging from what they had witnessed so far. He turned his attention back to the graphic pictures of the victims.

He stared at the deep slashes that ran from the corners of Marcus Luxenborough's mouth up to his ears. The raw flesh exposed his entire mouth and his face was frozen into a horrible, blood- filled grin.

Gordon's eyes shifted to the images of Jenkins, whose right eye had been gouged out and impaled on his front teeth.

A chill involuntarily made its way up his spine as he wondered if a human could be capable of such monstrosities.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

As she followed him in her car, Crane's mind was racing with a disarray of thoughts. He was bewildered and anxious. He found himself wondering yet again about his behaviour towards her and his true motivations. Back at Gotham City Hall, that nagging feeling had resurfaced. He'd initiated conversation with her, knowing she would give in to his casual approach, as she'd done before. He hoped that it would lead her to reveal more. Since Saturday's events, a nagging feeling had been gradually intensifying at the back of his mind. It made him jittery and tense, although he could not say why. It was partly what had caused him a restless night; a similar foreboding that had emerged after Scarecrow had finally quieted down. He cleared his mind as they drove into Arkham's parking lot.

Crane came up next to her and they walked up to the main building together. He noticed her gazing around at the asylum's dreary surroundings and remembered what she had said before the meeting had started.

"Have they performed any autopsies?" She looked at him.

"Uh, yeah, actually they have. They haven't found anything." She paused reflectively. "Some people at the hospital seem to think it might be a drifter. I've heard a few say Carmine Falcone might be responsible, but I don't know see how. They're saying that…," she frowned at her words, "he's trying to deflect suspicion by using a different tactic, using…gory murders."

Crane was careful not to show any change in expression at this. He had found out, not so long ago, that Ghul had ties to Falcone. He figured that it was only a matter of time before he was asked to become familiar with Falcone, and he already detested the very idea. He was almost certain, however, that Falcone was not involved. High- class doctors such as Luxenborough and Jenkins would want nothing to do with Falcone. If their needs extended to that which was unattainable within the law, they would never deal with a local man. Crane would be surprised if they did.

"Well, if it gets worse I'm sure a curfew will be put into effect. It's happened before." He held the door open for her and as she stepped inside, she turned to look at him in something approaching alarm.

"Happened before?" she echoed, raising her brows. "You mean serial murders are common in Gotham?"

Her voice was slightly panicked and breathless but Crane could not tell if it was out of pure fear. Her eyes were agitated, just as they had been earlier.

"Occasionally," he answered, looking at her. "They're usually able to catch whoever's behind it. Serial murderers are themselves uncommon. I wouldn't be too worried about it; most of Gotham's homicidal maniacs are in here." He gave her a lopsided smile. She scoffed slightly and rolled her eyes at his humour, but he could see that it was bothering her; or rather, _something_ was bothering her.

The stillness of the asylum was punctuated by the occasional chirp of a lonesome bird outside, and the soft murmurs and random voices of the staff. As they walked to Crane's office, he told her about some of the more notorious murder cases in the city. She seemed intrigued, but he thought he saw a vague nervousness lurking in her forest green eyes. Before he could meet them straight on, she looked away.

He found the book and handed it to her, giving her a keen look.

"You know, that offer's still open if you're having a hard time. I know some therapists who specialize in sleep disorders; they don't work in asylums. I can give you a few numbers if you'd like.

She gave him a brief, curious look, but then sighed. "No thanks. I'd probably just make an appointment and never go," she said dryly. She turned and gazed out of the window.

He was about to speak when his phone emitted its shrill ring from behind him on the desk. She jerked her head slightly at the sound.

"I should get back to work. Thanks for the book."

He nodded. "I hope it helps."

She smiled at him faintly and left the office, quietly closing the door. Crane stared at it for a moment before he went to answer the phone.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

"Visiting someone?"

The scornful tone seemed vaguely familiar to Alexandra. She raised her head and saw Seth Luxenborough, Marcus Luxenborough's younger brother, at the top of the stairs. She cringed inwardly. Seth was not so different from his older brother. Despite being only an intern at Mount Angels, he was given to blatantly disregarding protocol. Marcus also disliked following orders, she recalled. The last time she had seen him, Marcus had been alive and she didn't relish a confrontation with him now.

"Seth…how are you?" She kept her voice neutral and polite, ignoring his sarcasm, but she could see the resentment clearly on his face and wanted to get away from him.

He walked up to her but didn't answer.

"I'm sorry about Marcus." There wasn't anything else to say so she headed for the stairs.

"Yeah, I'm sure you're weeping for him," he sneered.

Alexandra paused, a little taken aback. She knew how immature he could be, but his grief should have overwhelmed any animosity he had towards her. She had offered him her condolences, but if he didn't accept them she would not press the matter any further. She resumed walking.

"Probably glad that he's gone so you can give more orders," she heard him mutter.

She felt a twinge of irritation at his suggestion and turned to face him. He was gazing at her with disgust.

"Seth," she said calmly as she could manage, "if you want to think that I wished him ill, then I can't stop you. But I _am_ sorry he's dead. I wouldn't wish that on anyone."

Her pacifying tone seemed to make him angrier; he strode towards her as she stepped down on the stairs.

"What I _think_ is that you're a common _slut_ who's trying to get ahead the easy way," he spat at her furiously.

She froze and stared at him, shocked. He glanced down at the book in her hands and snickered.

"Oh, I see you've made friends with the nut who runs the nuthouse," he scoffed. "That's nice…two orphan freaks keeping each other company. You're doing him too?"

Fury boiled up in Alex. "If you're so jealous of other people getting ahead why don't you concentrate on your own affairs so won't remain an intern _again_ this year." She knew the comment would sting and she hoped it would silence him. She began to descend the stairs when she felt him grab her by her jacket.

He twisted her around roughly and before she could blink his fist smashed into her face, sending her reeling backwards. Raw, hot pain erupted from her mouth and nose as she lost her balance and fell, hitting her temple hard on the thick, wooden banister. She toppled and grated her tailbone against the edge of a step. She felt herself sliding and blindly grabbed at the posts, dimly hearing Crane's voice above her.

She came to a stop and sat on the middle of the stairway, holding tightly to the rail. She looked up and saw that Seth was picking himself up from the floor and wiping his nose whilst glaring at Crane.

"Leave or I'll have you arrested," Crane ordered him coldly.

As he passed she shied away before she could stop, and hated herself for doing so. Even now, as an adult, she was unable to defend herself. Through the hair hanging in her face she saw Crane at her side. She attempted to pull herself up as she held her trembling hands to her bloodied face, keeping her head bowed. She couldn't look at him; she didn't want him to think she was utterly helpless, and she struggled to suppress the tears and sobs that had sprung to the surface.

Her knees wobbled and she almost tripped again but she felt his arm encircle her shoulders and pull her upwards. At first she resisted out of sheer surprise; no one had ever picked up or defended her before.

"Come here, I'll get you cleaned up," he said in a low, toneless voice. It might have been grief she detected in his tone, but she couldn't be sure. He silently led her back to his office.

He sat her on the sofa and kneeled before her. She bent her head even lower and closed her eyes, keeping them shut even when he touched her mouth with a tissue.

"Hold on, I'll get you some ice for the swelling."

She sensed him examining her, though, and finally looked at him. She managed to glimpse something strange in his expression before he stood up and walked away.

She closed her eyes once more, suddenly remembering herself as a child. When things were bad, when _he_ was around, her mother would comfort her, and somehow Crane had reminded her of that. Back when she was alive, it would just be the both of them and everything seemed perfect. She saw images of her childhood home and suddenly wished she was far away from Gotham………

When Crane returned to his office, she was gone.

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_The next morning…5:00 a.m._

The early morning Gotham fog persisted as Officer Walter Gordon patrolled the now deserted side streets of Angels Square. He drove until he came to the park near Crawford Gardens; he killed the engine and got out. He walked about, alert for anything unusual. After about thirty minutes it was still dark, but the fog began to clear and he walked to the lake. Its waters were still and black. He turned to go back, and that was when he saw it.

All he could distinguish was an irregular outline that contrasted against the soft blurs of the foliage that led into the woods. He made his way to the hedges and shone his flashlight over the object. He immediately gagged and dropped it in the pool of gore.

As he staggered back to his car, he hoped that it wasn't anyone he knew. All he knew was that it was a male, but with the face ripped open from mouth to ear and half the flesh shredded, it was hard to identify the person.

* * *

A/N: Alright, let me clear up a few things. The latter part in Crane's office was told briefly form Alex's POV. Crane's thoughts on that scene (as well as more of hers) will be in a chapter soon to follow.

Also, I have a request. Usually I'm content with receiving the reviews I get, but as I was writing this I got an ambition boost (haha), so I made a bet w/ myself that this could get at least 20 reviews by chapter 5, which is due soon. So please help me out; I need 5 for this one & 5 for the next.

I appreciate your suggestions & questions: I love when readers get into the story.

Teaser for chap. 6: Alex encounters Aaron!

Thanks so much for reading.

FalconHorror


	5. The Killer

_**Fear of Demons**_

_The Killer_

The Killer was nothing if not efficient.

The Killer knew precisely _when_ to strike, and did so without warning to those who would stop It.

The Killer knew _whom_ It would fell, and those selected few were afforded neither pity nor forgiveness.

It was neither male nor female; such a label was too common and disdainfully inadequate for The Killer. It was simply an entity, and had always thought of Itself as such.

It was old, an ancient, sleeping relic that had been stirred from Its hellish slumber by the unwary. Now that it had been summoned, It walked amongst the living once again, breathing in their air, drinking in their sights…tasting their fear.

It was ecstatic to be able to carry out Its job, to create justice among the hidden misdeeds of The Evil Ones. The Evil Ones came in many forms and fashions, and were as old as The Killer Itself. They were different in appearance, but The Killer could see beneath the glamour and knew that they were essentially all the same. You see, The Killer had known of them from long ago…….

The Killer was born from the desolate wastes of a frayed and turbulent spirit and had begun Its life quietly. It had questioned everything and had eventually realized that It would never be avenged. It had grown vengeful in Its quest to protect the Angel. The Angel was here now, but could not see The Killer; locked up behind large, powerful doors, it was trapped within the confines of a troubled mind. The Killer could not visit the Angel; if It made Itself known then there would be trouble, there would be suspicion. It could not let that happen. It was imperative The Killer complete Its work as It had done before. It had eliminated them before and It was doing so now. They had wronged the Angel back then and suffering had come of it. But The Killer had emerged and saved the Angel, and there had been happiness and content. The Killer had gone as quickly as It had come, and the Angel was blissfully unaware. Maybe there had been, from time to time, a perception, an acuity that something that lurked nearby, but the Angel stayed far from all thoughts that led to it. The Killer was sneaky; the Angel did not know The Killer was back…and It wanted it that way…it was so much more fun…

When It was young, It had dimly classified the living as different groups, and they did not bother The Killer. There were the nice people, the irritating and annoying, the sad, the funny and many more. They were a part of the world and had normal, happy, ignorant lives, whereas The Killer's was filled with horrific knowledge of what was present underneath, taunted and mocked by demons that refused to depart…

So now only the Angel retained such weaknesses. The Killer no longer bestowed _sympathy_…it had done so in Its earlier life and the feeling was not reciprocated by anyone. However, the Angel did not see that…and was paying for it. But The Killer had been slyly making things better for the Angel…and enjoyed every moment of it.

The Killer relished in the shed blood of The Evil Ones. They were always the ones who laughed, but in the end it had been The Killer who had the final smile, the one that satiated Its fire…

Its first strike was euphoric; the abrupt flare of rage followed by the swift arc of the blade was perfect. It remembered well the sensation as It had realized the opportunities It was offered…they were endless. The park had been the beginning. That one had been rather confused and certainly surprised at his fate. But The Killer had been confident and prepared, unbeknownst to the Angel. After a small smile It had stepped forward like lightning and slashed his throat in one agile move. Before the blood could even spurt forward from his severed jugular, The Killer had sidestepped and ripped a new opening in his face. It had been grinning wildly by then, overcome with rapture and supreme gratification. Then, quickly, another slash had appeared, and then The Killer had bared Its teeth and earnestly began to ribbon his already pulpy flesh, Its insurmountable fury overflowing. It never gave him any mercy to utter anything but a low gurgle that went unheard; he did not _deserve_ any mercy. When his lifeless body had slumped to the ground, The Killer had left and hid Itself away to rest. The other encounters had been equally rewarding.

It was pleased with Its work and never left any sign of Its presence…It was indomitable. It knew the Angel would be secretly thrilled at the manner in which The Killer bested Its prey. It chuckled at the vague understanding that a type of people the Angel clung to so desperately wanted to stop The Killer. They underestimated The Killer's mind; the power it contained was indeed something to behold in awe and fear. If they only saw The Killer Itself, surely they would go mad, for no mere mortal could set eyes on It and not question the realms of the sane world.

The Killer lay low for now, fulfilled…but It sensed something close on the horizon. It was a new addition, the nature of which It could not ascertain, but a hazy idea was forming of what this thing was attempting to do.

It wanted to take that which belonged to The Killer.

It appeared harmless, but it was crafty and steadily inched closer to what did not belong to it. It offered sinister whispers and promises to lure away what only The Killer could possess.

The Killer was conscious of this intruder…and intended to deal with it in the harshest manner possible. It would show the intruder with what it strove to interfere. It would show it what happened when it explored things that were beyond its comprehension.

Most of all, It would show the intruder what true madness was.

It would search for it—and It _would_ find it—and rip it apart.

It was, after all, The Killer.

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A/N: Formal introductions are in order, I believe: _The Killer, meet The Readers. The Readers, you've just met The Killer._

I know this chapter is painfully short compared to the previous 4, but it's meant to be so. You'll see more of The Killer in subsequent chapters, including Its private thoughts as It goes on a kill.

I must thank the following readers for reading & reviewing my story despite its slow beginning: **And.what**, **Raz 42492, MustLoveGreg, Royalty09, P'tfami, Kathryn Glover, neo savvy, Silver-Eyed-Elf & Navar Darkblade.**

_My sincere thanks to you all, as well as all the other readers!_

So, I hope you all enjoyed that quaint interlude. Things really start to get moving in chapter 6. Say what you think about this & the story in general, please. I love feedback from the readers. Does The Killer sound scary? Disturbed?


	6. Panic & Confusion

_**Fear of Demons**_

_Panic & Confusion_

First of all, A BIG THANK YOU TO EVERYONE who has read & reviewed this story; I'm very surprised people like it. I'm grateful to those who have taken the time to read, review & put this on alert:

,**Raz 42492, MustLoveGreg, Royalty09, P'tfami, Kathryn Glover, neo savvy, Silver-Eyed-Elf, Navar Darkblade, stormflora, QuicktoSee, the black panther, Spunky-hyper-girl, & highland girl 1592. **(Hope I didn't forget anyone.)

IMPORTANT: I've made a small change to the end of chap 4; I thought it sounded too sappy and confusing (I must've been ill when I wrote it). It doesn't change the plot of the story but you should probably read it. It's just from the part where Crane comes upon Alex after being hit to the ending.

I hope you all like this chap; it continues directly from chap 4.

Disclaimer: As before, I don't own ANYTHING.

* * *

_Arkham Asylum_

_Rage……_

The word danced in Crane's mind over and over, distracting his efforts to resume his work. He was positive he had seen it all over her face, and he was desperate to find out the reasons behind it; just as before, he had wanted to know more about her, although he couldn't say why.

When he had returned to his office with an ice-pack, she had vanished. Hissing with frustration, as he knew he'd just missed an excellent opportunity, he had hurried down the stairs and scanned the parking lot, but she was gone. So he had tried to continue with his paperwork. However, he could not put that incident with Seth Luxenborough out of his mind. Whatever had happened was really none of his business, but he was intrigued by it. Mostly, he was intrigued by her _response_ to it. Somehow, he had the impression that she would have been more willing to accept comfort from him. The very thought made him uncomfortable…but it also meant that she _trusted _him.

He didn't know if he was crossing the line, but he had to follow his instinct.

That look bothered him. The way she had gripped her face, as if to hide from him, struck him as odd for some reason. Maybe she didn't want his sympathy. But hadn't she opened up to him about her problems since she came to Gotham City? Hadn't she accepted his help and advice? The entire thing confused him more than it should have. She had left, she didn't want his help anymore, or at least not now, so he should just forget it and get on with his business.

With considerable effort Crane managed to put aside his musings and finish some of his work. He went home earlier than usual and resisted the sudden urge to call her office at the hospital. Instead he went to bed and dreamed of how he had poisoned his mother when he was a teenager. It had been a while since he had that dream, but as usual, he hated the memory. He had no urge to recall his mother, who had very little concern for him at any point when he was growing up. He had practically raised himself, which was why he had learnt of many things the hard way. And although those lessons were not were not forgotten –they would never be—he did not want to be reminded of how they were obtained.

The following morning he was thinking about Alexandra once more, pondering what about her had caused him to remember his detested childhood. If that was the effect she had on him, he should simply leave her alone. He didn't think that their current interactions were exactly professional and he certainly wasn't gaining anything from them.

At least, he didn't think so.

But Crane decided that his curiosity was too strong not to be satisfied. At midmorning, after much contemplation, he headed to the hospital to see her.

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_Crawford Gardens Park_

Alexandra watched the families and random scattering of people as she strolled along the sidewalk of the park.

She was angry and humiliated. She hadn't been able to defend herself yet _again_ despite her constant promises to do so. She _hated_ the idea of weakness in herself…there was no room for it after all that had happened. She couldn't believe that she had allowed Seth to take advantage of her like that. And then Crane had been there to witness it.

She had wanted to accept his kindness (if that was what it was) when she was sitting in his office, but then anger over Seth and everything else clouded her mind. She had gotten that……_feeling_ again, abrupt but strong. She had to leave; getting her anger under control was crucial, especially now. From now on, she silently promised, she would keep to herself and do her best to stay away from confrontations like the one she had last night. But that wasn't as easy as it seemed…her mind kept replaying last evening's scenes over and over like a bad movie. She just had to concentrate on her work until she felt better. And maybe, a part of her mind insisted, she should stay away from Dr. Crane. She really knew very little about him and that could prove to be unhealthy for her, considering all the rumours she had heard. Riley would agree. But somehow she liked him in a strange way. Was it fair to avoid him simply because of what everyone else said about him? That would make her just like Marcus and Seth.

Confused, she continued to walk. She cut across the thick, green grass and stood gazing at the sky, thinking. A bright red and purple kite caught her attention as it flew pass in the wind. She watched it as it was pulled behind her by a girl dressed in a school uniform. She glanced back at the sidewalk and froze.

Aaron was standing across the street.

He was scanning the area where the lake was.

Alexandra looked at him incredulously, countless thoughts screaming in her head. Was he actually in Gotham City, mere minutes from where she lived? What was he doing here? Her mind told her to move but she stood still, shocked, angry and in panic.

Then he began to walk towards the grass. His movement broke her daze and she also started to turn, but before she could make even a step he turned his head and caught her eye. Recognition instantly flooded his face and he started towards her, mouthing her name.

Barely thinking and fully panicked now, Alexandra turned and speedily walked away from him, breathing heavily. She reached the top of a rise that led to the garden below and looked back. He was still following; he raised his hand and indicated for her to stop. She mouthed '_no_' to him angrily and went down the mound, trembling with what she knew was fright. Didn't he know that he was supposed to stay away from her? Why couldn't he ever listen? He knew that she didn't want to see him. He was taunting her, as before.

She looked back once more and saw that he was alarmingly close behind, having realized that she was running away from him. The expression on his face was one she knew well: angry annoyance. Frantically, she ran to the tall bushes that lined one side of the garden. She went behind the ones that led to an open area of the park, not daring to look over her shoulder. Panting, she doubled back and quickly ran through the small wooded quarter. She came out into the street at the far end of the park and stopped.

She had managed to lose him, at least for now. She turned and ran towards the hospital, terrified.

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_Gotham City Police Department_

"Sergeant, you got a minute?"

Gordon rose from his desk, where he was going through the murder cases yet again, and followed the officer to the conference room.

"We got a positive I.D. on the latest victim," the man informed him, placing a folder on the table and opening it. "Strange coincidence, it's another one from Mount Angels Hospital."

"Who?"

"Seth Luxenborough." He handed Gordon a paper.

Gordon stared at the identification report grimly. "Marcus' brother," he murmured and the officer nodded.

"He was an intern."

Gordon recalled the grisly details of the latest body and inhaled deeply. "I think it's time to give the residents of Mount Angels an official warning. Find out everything about Luxenborough right up to where he was last seen."

The man nodded and left immediately, leaving Gordon to wonder helplessly about a motive.

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_Mount Angels Hospital_

Crane stood outside the research lab, wondering exactly what he was doing there.

He had been told by Davidson that she had stepped out and wouldn't be on duty for the day. That meant she had come to work, probably to spend time with her research. That surprised him; he thought that she would have wanted to avoid people's questions about her bruises. But then, he had never actually understood her. Maybe strangers to Gotham were struck with a temporary case of disorientation when they moved here. It certainly had an odd effect on her. He was curious as to how she was dealing with the encounter with Luxenborough. He was familiar with both brothers and guessed that they would have clashed with someone like her. Again, he pushed aside the nagging questions about her that kept popping up in his mind.

He walked down to the end of the hall and looked through the window. The fifteen minutes he had decided to wait for her were almost up. If she didn't show, he would simply call her. After what happened, maybe she was embarrassed and wanted to avoid him. He played with the thought and was about to give up and leave, when he heard rapid footsteps behind him. He turned just in time to see her practically run around the corner. He hesitated briefly before following her. She had gone into the office that was next to the lab. He entered and walked up to where she was standing. Apparently she hadn't seen him; she was busy rummaging through a desk drawer.

"You left in a hurry yesterday," he said neutrally, announcing his presence.

She whirled around at the sound of his voice and immediately he noticed that something was wrong. Her face was flushed and she didn't just look worried, she looked frightened. Her bruises were visible but faint and Crane assumed that she had covered them with makeup. She seemed stunned for a moment but then she went back to her task, not answering him. Crane decided to ignore her current disposition and focus on what had occurred yesterday.

"I don't suppose you're going to report him?" He phrased it as a question, wanting her to explain if she was willing to let it go. He saw her lift her head slightly but she was silent.

"I spoke to Davidson about his behaviour," she said in a dull voice after a long time. "He'll be reprimanded, maybe suspended from duty, I don't know." She closed the drawer and sat down with a small notebook.

"You should report him to the police."

"No!" She looked at him then, a frown passing across her features. "That's not necessary."

He noted her reaction and waited for her to say more. When she didn't, he tried another tactic. "I know how they are."

She slowly raised her eyes to look at him warily. "Who?"

"Luxenborough. The both of them. If he's bothering you for whatever reason, you should put a stop to it."

"What makes you think that?" she scoffed. She fell quiet again for some time, looking down at the book in front of her but not opening it.

Crane was about to leave when she asked him:

"How do you know them? Did you go to school with Marcus?"

He nodded. "I taught Seth later on."

"So……Marcus was always like that?"

She didn't need to explain what she meant; he nodded again. "He liked to think that he had power over certain people who disagreed with him." He paused and then added, "He once beat me up when we were kids."

She gazed at him in amazement, her earlier agitation now forgotten. "Are you serious?"

Crane nodded.

"And you let him," she said distractedly, mostly to herself.

"Well, I was twelve and I didn't have many options at the time. I don't think you're in exactly the same position." He watched her for a time, but she didn't respond so he turned and left without saying anything else.

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_Later that evening_

Where was he…………?

The question had been haunting her ever since she returned to the hospital.

Alexandra was sitting in her chair, fuming at the turn of events and her reaction to it. She was too afraid to go home so she had decided to spend the night in her office. Of course that would be the most obvious place to look –he could easily find out where she worked—but she was safer here, around people. Up until now, she thought she had basically everything under control. Aaron's appearance had shown her that she didn't. Things had started to become a little shaky before he came, of course….

She groaned angrily and rested her head down on her arms. She had to think clearly if she wanted peace again. The murders, Seth Luxenborough, Aaron, Crane…–all of it—had clouded her mind. She had to get her priorities straight, and she knew they didn't include Crane. Nevertheless, she felt slightly guilty at tossing him aside so casually. He _had_ helped her, on more than one occasion. And it wasn't just the help of the common stranger, either. He had given her advice and –though he was probably unaware of it—he had kept her company, made her at ease. That made her selfish, but she didn't know what else to do.

She had to concentrate on how she was going to deal with Aaron. She kept linking him to the murders……and she had a sickening feeling why. She breathed deeply and thought.

She could call Riley; he would advise her…but that might be a bad idea. He would assume the worst and come running down to Gotham in an instant, accusing and telling her what to do. Although he had helped her in the past, he had never really understood her. She would get rid of everything that prevented her from thinking calmly and without fear……and then she would know what to do. First thing was the nightmares; those had always been the first sign of trouble. That would be relatively easy; she knew how. She had to cut off all contact with Aaron; the calls and unexpected visits would stop. If he refused, she would trouble for him and this time there was no room for pity. In the ending she would be okay.

She sat upright and sighed. She absentmindedly touched her bruises and winced. Crane's story came back to her, and she found herself feeling sorry she had snubbed him earlier. Suddenly, she found herself deliberating if she should tell him about her problems. Maybe he could offer a solution.

Or………maybe he wasn't as helpful as he appeared. She hated her paranoia; it was another bad sign. But there was no room to debate on that now. It would have to wait for later. The least she could do, though, was thank him for his help.

She decided to do so the next time she saw him.

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_Research Centre, Cardiff, Wales, two days earlier_

Thomas Riley was worried.

He sat behind his desk scanning the papers before him. They were printouts of Gotham City's recent news headlines, and they weren't good.

When he had decided to check on Alexandra, he thought it would be sensible to keep an eye on Gotham City's current events. It was a notorious place to live and he had to have an idea of what sort of environment she had to face. He didn't want her to think he was being overly protective, but she needed someone occasionally to check on her.

Reading the latest news on Gotham gave him a very bad feeling. After he had learned of Luxenborough's death, Aaron had instantly come to his mind. It had been premature then, but now……maybe it wasn't. He had first spoken to her a month after she had moved. Despite a few casual problems she had seemed well-adjusted and eager to continue with her work. Everything had seemed fine.

But maybe everything wasn't……

He hadn't heard from her since then and he was constantly debating whether or not to call her. It might put her in a panic, but he was concerned. A few days ago his worry had caused him to do little investigating. When he had learned of the manner in which the murders were committed, his anxiety had significantly increased. She worked in the same hospital as the murder victims. It didn't have to mean anything, it could be a coincidence but………

He had to be sure.

He promised himself that he wouldn't act irrationally; he would try to contact her and find out the situation.

But the only way to put his mind at ease would be to go to Gotham and see for himself. And he would; regardless of what she said, he would go.

He had to be certain of her well-being, or if anything happened he wouldn't be able to forgive himself.

He looked at the articles and pictures again and wondered exactly what was going on in Gotham.

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_Mount Angels Hospital, the following morning_

The elevator doors opened and Crane was just about to step inside when Alexandra exited, holding food and a newspaper. She saw him and stopped hesitantly, looking as if she wanted to say something. He turned and spoke first, noting her eyes were slightly bloodshot.

"You're here early. You've heard the news?"

She nodded. "I think some of them from the police department are coming later to question us. Did they speak to you?"

"Sergeant Gordon called me early this morning. I told him that Seth was at the asylum." He lowered his voice. "I didn't mention what happened. If you change your mind you can tell him when he speaks to you."

Okay. Thanks. Are you working here today?" She appeared distracted and stressed.

"No, I just came to deliver a patient's report."

She nodded and turned to go.

"You spent the night in the hospital again?" His curiosity overcame him once more without him even noticing. She turned to face him.

"Uh……yes; I…" –she gestured— "had a lot of work to do."

Crane didn't believe her entirely. "People seem to think that the murderer's targeting the doctors here," he went on, hoping to get her to reveal something more.

"I don't know……"

"I hope that's not why you spent the night here," he continued casually, glancing down the hall. "It's useless to be looking over your shoulder all the time in Gotham. A lot of these murders remain unsolved. But it isn't difficult to keep yourself safe," he added, noticing her expression. "You live in a safe area, you just need to be alert." There he went again, offering his counselling as if he was her psychiatrist.

She didn't seem reassured. "Actually, a couple of the murders happened close to where I live."

"I think Gordon has men patrolling the area."

"No, it's not that……" she trailed off and paused, shaking her head. "Someone's been……harassing me, so I stayed here until…I decided what to do."

He frowned. "One of Marcus' friends?"

"No, it's—it's someone I knew from back home. My ex-husband." She had no idea why she admitted it to him and immediately she began to regret it.

"He followed you here?"

She shrugged. "He must have; I never told him where I was going. He refuses to go away." She sighed and rubbed her eyes tiredly. "I saw him yesterday in the park, so I'm not sure he doesn't know where I live."

"Well, you can't hide here for much longer." He was slightly taken aback. Regardless of why he was interested in her, an ex-husband, especially one that stalked his ex-wife, wouldn't take too kindly to someone helping her. He might just show open hostility, and Crane didn't need the extra attention with the sort of work he was doing.

"I know." She seemed resigned. "Well, thanks anyway. For everything." She turned to go and again he stopped her.

"Why don't you go home for awhile. Get some rest. I'll drive you, if you afraid of him spotting your car." He was being rather bold, but he wanted to see where all this was leading.

His offer didn't seem to thrill her. "I—I don't want to get you in trouble. I mean, he could even be waiting for me. I'll go later. If he's there I'll just handle him myself."

"It's no trouble, really." He took her arm and waited for her to comply. "Come on."

He half expected her to pull away and was a little surprised when she wordlessly agreed.

When they were in his car she gave him instructions, then sat back and gazed through the window. He periodically glanced in the rear view mirror at her. She remained silent and distant.

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_Central Station, Gotham City _

Thomas Riley stepped off the train and took in the busy view. Gotham was certainly an active city; people came and went and no one ever knew.

He shuddered slightly and headed for the newsstand. He bought a paper and scanned it for any news on the murders. There was nothing.

The first thing on his mind now was finding Alexandra and making sure she was safe.

After countless of his calls and messages to her home and office had gone unanswered, he had packed his bags and prepared to head to Gotham City. He had been lucky to get a last minute flight. His trip was uneventful but his worry grew by the minute as he remembered past events with Aaron. If he had something to do with what was going on at Mount Angels Hospital (if anything was, a stubborn part of his mind insisted) then he would have to intervene. There was no other way.

As Riley sat in the taxi on his way to the hotel he prayed that nothing was wrong; it would be a shame, after she had settled down so quietly.

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_Arkham Asylum _

Crane angrily tossed the phone away and began to order his desk. He didn't appreciate people keeping a watch on him and he certainly didn't appreciate being told what to do.

He had just gotten back from Alexandra's house when he received an unexpected call from Henri Ducard. Somehow, he was aware that Crane had become _'suspiciously friendly'_ with a new research doctor in Gotham, so he wanted to remind him of his duty. Crane had informed him quite frankly that what he did in his spare time was nobody's business and that he worked alone. Still, Ducard had given him a subtle warning before he hung up. Crane wasn't too worried about him, though. He had no idea that Crane could easily arrange to have one of his brutes 'found' by the GCPD, putting Ducard in a very public view. And he didn't need seven years of ninja training to take out his men, either.

After a quick lunch he found himself unable to concentrate on his work. Her revelation had stirred his curiosity even more. She had stood in her kitchen as he had made a check of the house for her. She didn't seem scared beyond her wits, just distracted and confused. He desperately wanted to know just what was going on between her and her ex-husband, but she hadn't offered any further information and he knew it would be a mistake to ask. She had to trust him fully before he could do that.

But he wasn't content to wait. He wanted to know, he wanted to know every detail, like why she was so reluctant to report Aaron to the police when he suggested it. What had he done to make her so cautious?

He opened the browser and typed in the address of the hospital in which she previously worked, not even thinking now why he was doing any of it. Within minutes he had her profile in front of him. He studied it but there were no personal details, not even a mention of her ex-husband among the people with whom she worked. She had referred to him by his first name and Crane had assumed that they were in the same profession, but now he could see how difficult it would be to find him. He didn't have a last name and he had no idea of the man's appearance or age. However, he typed in 'Aaron' and a small list of names came up. Patiently, he set about clicking on each one and reading. About a half hour later, he realized that he was wasting time. There was no way he would be able to find him based on a first name alone.

The only way would be for her to tell him. Crane sat back and wondered if it would be worth the trouble to _make_ her tell him. It might be…who knew what else he might find out?

After a few minutes, he decided that he would...

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A/N: All right, that was chapter 6. Things are coming to a head so the next one will be shorter. I didn't want to end this one with her accepting his offer to take her home, as I know those romance-lovers would've gotten ideas. :)

Again, thanks so much to those who have stuck with me so far on this story; I'm so glad & I hope you've enjoyed the latest addition. As always, I'm eager to know what you think; your suggestions & critique are welcome.

Thanks for reading.

FalconHorror


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